There is no one to blame but ourselves
for allowing time to change the stich
we chose that wove the fabric
of our lives together
Seems the machine turned on us both
by ripping a hole in our delirious happiness
so that we are stuck with this blanket of
convenient companionship and
moth eaten apathy to cover up with
on our separate sides of the bed at night
And I want you to know I don’t resent
you for not being able to kiss me like
you really mean it anymore,
or even take an interest in asking me
what it is I’m thinking about like you use to
I just hate the fact that as hard as I try
I can’t remember the last time I heard you laugh

Written by Sara Fielder © May 2015