pack this memory
along with old socks,
set dust on our story
and on all of our trust.
let time flow
like dental floss,
so we won't know
how to weep our loss.
let the day turn
into dry moss,
remove our hopes
like you do dross.
this was not a story
of charm or of grace,
but more of a wonder
into a lost place.
still, this doesn't end,
as one may believe,
it will only linger
as long as we breathe,
for our truthful story
grows full of despair
like wrinkles on foreheads
and strands of white hair.
it is not a burden,
but a curse, or just fate,
we did not choose this
haunting wraith...
have faith in me, love
as night can trust day
on a sun lacking sky,
on a sword lacking fray.
That point of a relationship where the two partners have known each other for so long, that they don't know how to live without each other, where the hurt they both caused and felt becomes their drug, their air. It is growing together in a perfect, but sad symbiosis. They are both drugs and drug addicts. It is that point where quarrels or fights are pointless, where despair can only take the place happiness, as they both know they tried to change each other, but there is no point in trying. These are not only infected wounds, but gangrenous ones. This is living together with the opposite of a soulmate, only of fearing the unknown situation of a life without each other. This is a story of many.
