It comes and goes like an aimless nomad searching for a place to call home, somewhere in the world other than in silence. 
 
Missing you is trailed by fear, and angst soon fills its space knowing that no home exists. 
 
Then it comes to rest in the chambers of my chest while I figure out what to do.
Love another? Perhaps. 
But never in the same way for that would require full attention, which has already been partially paid with no return on its investment. 
 
A poor heart's rent on property not for purchase.