Walk, Walk with your bare feet
to places I've never heard.
Lately, I can't seem to feel
anything but words.
Stand, stand at the crossroads,
wonder where you will go.
Distance becoming more than space,
as I had come to know.
But you talk, talk with conviction
about everything but me.
And I counted for a year.
And I cursed the miles between.
Distance was my occupation.
I tried to measure it with a pen.
And so I did not notice the breach between us-
the ever present end.
The breach that separated
you
from
me,
that no amount of closeness would mend.
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:09 PM UTC
Walk, Walk with your bare feet
to places I've never heard.
Lately, I can't seem to feel
anything but words.
Stand, stand at the crossroads,
wonder where you will go.
Distance becoming more than space,
as I had come to know.
But you talk, talk with conviction
about everything but me.
And I counted for a year.
And I cursed the miles between.
Distance was my occupation.
I tried to measure it with a pen.
And so I did not notice the breach between us-
the ever present end.
The breach that separated
you
from
me,
that no amount of closeness would mend.
