when will we honestly answer the question: “how are you”

You asked me, “How are you?”

statement more than a question.

and for once I really told you

I told you that I ache every day for something that I cannot name

and even with my vocabulary, I can’t find the words for it.

That I sleep too much or sleep too little.
That sometimes, I am happy.

Sometimes, not so much.

That I am plagued by nostalgia and summer rains that have long since dried up, leaving the earth cracked and dry and

waiting.

That every time I fall out of love with someone else,

I fall a little more in love with myself and I am learning

why they write poems about solitude.

You asked me “How are you?”

and I shrugged my shoulders and said

“I’m fine”