The line that bound us close
Withering, day by day.
My dear friend,
How I wish to shout
‘I’m sorry’
How I wish you would shout
‘I’m sorry’ too.
Yet the pride of our own **** away at us
Like leeches.
The fault that endlessly feeds my rumination.
Do you feel the same too?
Or does your mind wander without care
Like wind passing through meadows.
Constant gnawing.
Those:
Late night calls.
Long conversations over short hours.
Unsleeping nights.
Followed by:
A bitter end.
The aftertaste, leaving sour traces
On the roof of my mouth
Base of my tongue
And constant stinging on my gums.
The space once with voices of You and I.
Vacant.
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 3:54 PM UTC
The line that bound us close
Withering, day by day.
My dear friend,
How I wish to shout
‘I’m sorry’
How I wish you would shout
‘I’m sorry’ too.
Yet the pride of our own **** away at us
Like leeches.
The fault that endlessly feeds my rumination.
Do you feel the same too?
Or does your mind wander without care
Like wind passing through meadows.
Constant gnawing.
Those:
Late night calls.
Long conversations over short hours.
Unsleeping nights.
Followed by:
A bitter end.
The aftertaste, leaving sour traces
On the roof of my mouth
Base of my tongue
And constant stinging on my gums.
The space once with voices of You and I.
Vacant.
- 18.03.2026
still feeling rue from a friendship that ended two years ago (lol)
