Mirages.

I'm walking through my desert.

And I've just managed to start enjoying the heat.

And I've found some people along the way I can laugh with and who can keep me company.

And things aren't that bad anymore.

The problems only come out quickly at night in the darkness, but I lock them away safely and they don't bother me in the morning.

But the heat is really quite hot.

And sometimes, even though I'm trying to enjoy it I miss my snow and my winter.

And when I see the mirages I do, I really hope that they're just mirages and not actually real.

Because that would just open up all my little problems and splay them out to bake in the sun with me.

And I'm hoping these mirages are real even though I shouldn't, but they can't be anyways because it wouldn't make any sense.

So when I look up from smiling and laughing and being the most out-going in the room, in to my lap so I can't see you.

And manage to meet your eyes across the circle.

I pretend I can't feel your hand through all the hands that are linking us.

And I pretend I don't wish I were sitting next to you so I could finally be allowed to touch those hands.

And I pretend you weren't looking at me and smiling when  I look up.

I pretend you aren't happy to see me again.

Because that would spill all my problems out to bake.