When I don't get to play with you, I don't want to play.

I turn the game on anyway, for something to do.

When I don't hear from you, no stray thought lacks a scent of you.

Though I shouldn't think of you, I can't push it away.

No force I know of can push against the void when you're not here.

In the silence of without you, there's just rage, pressure.

So many years of living with it that I should know better.

To push against that emptiness, fill it with something else.

Rage in this space without volume, producing only meaningless noise.

In the silence, listen.

It's the only way I can hear you.