As I observe my hands...all for best yet missing you

It is as I sit and look at my fingers...clean and evenly groomed, nails cut by my own hand, that I feel the aching crushing cascade yet again threaten to break the steel curtains of my facade...but then the moment is stifled before it can bloom, and missing you, if in that instant, is forcibly shelved...constant companion with the misery of a lot of my self that may be lost...