And here we are
the end.
Five years running
and nothing to show
except the slowed
platonic love
and tired
texts
and an absence
of what once was
Except you don't know
do you
know that I'm
leaving us
know that I'm
panicked
into wondering
if I'm behind in
people
experiencing people
I feel I'm at a loss
with you
because we met each other
too soon
and now I'm just pointed bones
and you are the sun
and I'm greedy
for still wanting a piece of you
But I am burnt
The End.
I didn't think I'd write this kind of poem about you.