journal · poetry


The closer I get to you,
the farther away I feel
from you.
The lines thin off and
and I
break away
little pieces of me
And I want to be like
them, so close
with passion on the tips
of our lips
and fingertips
But you are not like them,
like me,
how I dreamed it might
always be.
Was it me
that frayed the bonds?
Or you,
or us,
a combined effort
to move forward and forget
the beginning
in all the looking
and planning
for the end, or future…
or perhaps it’s just
that you have so much more,
need so much less
than I
ever will.

Oh well?


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