Talking to each other, strangers once again.
With only a faint recollection of familiarity.
We'll talk about the same things,
never realize how old it's become, and how old we've become. Let go.
I tread safely around you,
Scared of missing a step,
Scared of loosing you.
Illusions, I breathe them. Everyday.
It isn’t me. I only show restraint.
This love comes from a better place.
For everything you are and everything you claim to be,
For the inbetweeness and the incomplete conversations. P.B.M.
The one instant when everything makes sense
It is all understood, then all is lost.
When it actualizes to be a parade, a shroud of lies,
A body of proof; A dead heart with a now forgotten secret.
It is all there in the palm of your hand.
I find happiness there, My solace in holding it.
Not letting go. Not being let go by you.
And the last words to emanate off my conscious mind. If only.
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