We spend the weekends together,
and send "good nights" during the week.

Lonelier than ever,
yet loved more than over a year —
You're the only one that knows.

If I have to catch myself at least once a day
to not
let those three little words spill,
I know I've made a mess.
I can't feel like this!
But feelings don't listen, dear.

In just six months I know we'll be apart:
"It's better this way", I tell myself.
But why does it hurt?
Why am I scared?

A strange limbo
I cannot explain
No, not even to myself —
Then how could I confide in friends?

I cling on to the hope
that we'll find our way back
because I think, I feel,
I hope again:
All senses that I had lost the last years.

But at the same time
I remind myself,
of how I did feel.

Maybe over time
we are just meant to
crumble to less than friends
and then lovers again,
and again.