Did you wake up?

I was thinking...
we have been cuddling each other from different spaces,
from different distances,
and we do not speak.

Just feel the warmth of our bodies,
in a sense that we just need each other.
We do not need the brains.
We do not need the feelings.
We don't even need the greetings.

We don't talk all day,
we don't talk all night.
Only when it's needed.
Only when we need something from each other.

And time has passed.
It has been years.

Wondering what made us come close.
Even the ask for *** is not there anymore.
But we just want to make sure
that we continue to see each other in front of us.

It's just like a mirror.
It's just like a sesame.
It's just like a sense of presence that is required.

That is where we find peace.
So that the heart is not broken.
One breaks at the other.
It's confusing.

We've had a lot of questions to ask.
We ask each other—
What's going on?
What happened?
What can we do?
What have we done so far in these years?
How have we survived each other?

And once we were done with the questions,
now we don't ask anymore—
Why?

Why do we still argue?
Why have we not lost connection?
Why have we not lost access or address for each other?
What is it?
Is it that we're looking for closure?

The acceptance is not there now.
We are busy with priorities,
life calamities—
some including us,
some excluding us.

And some thoughts intruding,
blocking an overview.

We have never made this far—
it's a thought that I sometimes wonder.

But I still feel,
or I felt,
or I thought—
whatever you name it—
that it might be necessary
for the heart,
or for the brain,
or for time
to go through with it.

Go through with it,
and see how far we've come.

And also because the mistakes I made
through the journey without you—
maybe I would have never done,
or I would have never taken those steps.

You might have just tolerated me,
but still—
I would have felt protected,
because you dominated my feelings,
and that's what I needed at that moment.

But I failed.
I failed to understand me.
I failed to understand everything around me.
I needed patience.
I had to just take care of being anxious.

Well, I'll go now.
It's not good.

And I see that you are sleeping without expression,
so you might not be dreaming at the moment—
but likely, you've been tired.

Tired long enough
that your body forced you to go to sleep.

But you continue to spend nights awake,
worrying about your feelings.

Not worrying about someone else,
but just worrying about your feelings,
thinking—
how can I protect and savor myself from being vulnerable?

And that is making you stronger.
That is making you ruthless.

Know that there is no other choice
but to create a thick skin,
a boundary,
let go of me—
even though I'm just skin to skin with you.

Because I just don't exist beyond the dreams anymore.

It's likely that you're done with your questions.
You're done with the confusion that you already had.
And that has made you understand
that you had nothing to do with the break.

And we're done asking what is at stake.

I've taken other responsibilities,
which I accept—
you go through with your life.

I'm not thinking about the people that you love,
but just probably surviving,
wondering about the people that love you.

And I'm grateful to them,
and grateful that being around you
has been more important.

Maybe that is all there is now

Ten years.
And here we are.
Full circle.
Older.
Tired.

I left.
I built the house.
The ring. The vows.
Six years tied tight—
cribs, birthdays, broken sleep.

And you—
you stayed.
Alone in the city I escaped.
Same crowd and buzz,
same silence
I once called freedom.

I ran.
I chose.
And now I stand here
in front of you
as if none of that happened.
As if the knot on my finger
is loose in the dark.

What are we doing?
Why are we here?
Two people who let go—
one to drown in duty,
one to float in drift—
meeting again like the world forgot
we finished this.

You look the same like I was time travelling
I grew twice my years
maybe just wanting
to know why it still stirs.
Why the thread pulls
even now.

Is this memory?
Regret?
Loneliness?
Or the sharp, quiet ache
of what was never done?

We are older.
But not past it.
Not beyond the question:

Why?

The ice denied to inform the river that she will melt
Maybe the mountain did not bother how she felt
Now who shall be blamed for the flood
Name the murderer, but there is no blood

Search for the stains along the shore,
Although, if you look for more
Planks of wood from a farm,
The soul wanders, body floats from the arms
Details are pending but the answers lie at the core
CANNOT DIG A WAY TO IT.