Broken Pencil

I know that this is good for me somehow:
Maturing, maybe, or developing.
But all that I can think about right now
Is how I ought to be enveloping
Your body with my arms. Why are we not
Cuddled together by a fireplace,
Concentrating only on that spot,
Each other, and the warmth of our embrace?
Why are you gone so far away from me,
And why have I, in imitation, left?
I cannot help but think that we should be
Together now; instead, we are bereft.
So though I know it's good to be here, I
Must spend a certain time wondering why.