there's a layer of dust on your furniture
and your things haven't been touched

when you come home
you'll still be miles away

the years we spent in constant contact
were too easy to drop
and fade away

but this doesn't mean they were nothing to me
our late night chats and our cups of tea
you really, really did help me

you struggle so much with your identity,
because you base it all on appearance
just like we both used to

i can't remember when we stopped talking
somewhere between a rainy day
and a random wednesday

it started this way because we were busy
at least that's what i told myself
but really it's just i'm getting better
and you aren't

(and i feel so guilty for that,
you deserve to be better
just as much as i do.
but i don't think
you want it,
yet)