Unable to agree on a concession, unable to meet eye to eye, we squat on our opposing buttocks and hurl insults at one another.
The flowers grow, all around, every Spring. The warmth circles and lingers. Even so, the algidity has become us. We are ever so much the products of somebody's drunken evening.
Air surrounds, and though we inhale, we manage still to cross no imaginary line.
I'm thinking. You're thinking.
Yes, we will leave one another alone one day; but this is not that day.
I look past you and see another you. One that called me friend. I suppose that for every pleasant memory, we'll now spend our time finding new ways to abominate one another.
Unable to agree on a concession, unable to meet eye to eye, we squat on our opposing buttocks and hurl insults at one another.