I sit alone with Mozart in my earphones trying to study Hindi
But my mind wonders about you: What are you doing?
Where are you now?
If we were together, would you help me through this?
Would you counsel me in this time of grief?
Would you offer help or like the Devil’s gents,
Would you flout me to my face?
Like Tomlinson, am I doomed to die
Only to be sent back to be more clearly something?
Are my efforts here so ambiguous?
Have I not made a clear path through anywhere?
Can I, to anyone but you, be true and explain myself?