i once knew a man with whom i shared many firsts
spheres aligned, hours mundane, endeavours delicate
and now he is merely a passer-by whose face i've nursed in private over the years
inaccurately
slowly
expiring

there is a certain irony to terrains less explored
i hear the light voices, speaking of plainness
quiet
escape
yet amidst all these noise, we are the lonely ones
we are lonely in caution, in responsibility, in abandonment
in incapacity to do just the same

when you've been there
and i've always been here
our hearts are no longer made of the same stone
our bodies might intertwine under the sheets
but our avenues beyond your doors will never be bridged

how utterly melancholic that is