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Feb 2015
Walk, Walk with your bare feet
to places I've never heard.
Lately, I can't seem to feel
anything but words.

Stand, stand at the crossroads,
wonder where you will go.
Distance becoming more than space,
as I had come to know.

But you talk, talk with conviction
about everything but me.
And I counted for a year.
And I cursed the miles between.

Distance was my occupation.
I tried to measure it with a pen.
And so I did not notice the breach between us-
the ever present end.

The breach that separated
you
from
me,
that no amount of closeness would mend.
Sometimes being physically close does not mean the same thing emotionally.
Michaela
Written by
Michaela  25/F/California
(25/F/California)   
734
   Isabelle Perla and JWolfeB
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