my girlfriend wrote this poem, but i have a terrible accent

Okay

I’m weary, so weary of lying in bed
Thinking, “how will this week come to an end?”
A week, a day, an hour — what does it matter?
I just long for the day when you’ll hold me, no chatter

Like the first time we met, with no doubt in your eyes
I’m tired of searching where hope often dies—
For places to eat, for a stroll in the park
I won’t close my eyes, though I’m lost in the dark

Dreaming of flames that burn low and slow
While memories linger of someone I know