I wear myself down.
Thoughts of anxiety, slowly but surely.
Trickle of water turns into a river.
It’s not the water’s fault it eroded the earth.
Still.
Your path is forever there.
Where you have been, set in stone.
Time is the ultimate punishment.

I don’t like making enemies.
Or that someone is not okay with who I am.
Still, I let you carve into my stone, because of time.
But please.
Leave marks of beauty.
No gashes, no craters.
Do what makes you happy.

I must be somewhat withered.
Definition on my face is unclear, for obvious reasons.
To the point where old marks are missing.
Does that mean a relationship can have a clean slate?
I can hope, I miss that friend.
It’s a bit tender there, mind you.