Would it seem odd if I told you, that while he's away, in a way, so am I?
I'm not wholly myself-
I'm some here, some there - where ever his there may be...
I move from world to world, my focuses range from;
and the washing pile
and foreign hotel rooms...
'Can you Skype today?'
'How has your day been?'
'What's the weather like there?'
'What did you have for dinner?'
So as you see,
I'm a bit of a collected mess.
I'm a bit of a stationary wanderer.
I'm on the highs of a success.
And on the lows of a blunder.
In truth I'm neither here,
while he is where, ever his where may be...
I'm waiting in limbo with silent impatience,
For love's long awaited return upon the morrow,
Looking so, so forward to the wheeling in of his (my) suitcase inside-
For as you know, I have explained;
when he comes home -
So do I.