Still, I try to hand you a little piece of me every day:
a single grape pulled from a vine of many.
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Still, I try to hand you a little piece of me every day:
a single grape pulled from a vine of many.
I wake late to find him gone again
Boots gone with him, but favourite things remaining
We walk together
I’m squinting under the high afternoon sun
While you’re shielded by the brim of your hat
I’m not saying much but
I’m hanging on your every word
…
Alongside others,
squinting in the noonday sun:
still walking alone
There were friends there.
I think there were so many friends there.
Surrounded, surrounded!
Some smiled with their eyes.
Some surprised me with their remembrance.
Most, I barely knew.
I turn my thoughts backwards, steering into nearby memories…
Thoughts on mental and emotional intimacy in platonic interpersonal connections.
Night air crisp and quiet
Goodbyes finally ring true
Honest and hollow
I’ll meet you there someday
At the crossroads under a full moon
We’ll take a moment to pause
Barely breathing in our excitement
Remembering days long gone
That once seemed so banal
But somehow feel precious now in the dark
…
I’ve been curling slowly into withdrawal of late
Slowly, discreetly; time marching on
With no complaints, with no fanfare
Just reduction
…
There’s rarely fights
(We’re too solid for that, after all)
There’s just insidious malcontent
Morphing into anger first
And then, sometimes, madness
Turned inwards, burning from the inside out
…