ineffable

Most days,
I can keep
the wolves away.

I hum happy tunes
and pretend
they mean something.
I busy my hands
with mindless work,
my mind with
shallow routines.

But some days,
I can't escape.

The quiet house
aches with your absence,
echoes the emptiness
of the years yawning before me.

And when the
sure knowledge
that you'll never love me
corners me in the silence,

my pretense disintegrates,
and I can do nothing

but weep.