and about the ways we wound one another, without meaning to, and
how the one who seemed so close that distance seemed unimaginable,
seems now to be on the other side of the moon, and me, forlornly standing
at the ocean's edge, looking out into vastness of distance.
I wrap the soft cloth tighter; a semblance of holding,
while the parade of necessary feelings makes its way through my town.
With no intention of wounding, not me, not you, yet somehow still it happened.
And now, instead of that rock solid place, we're walking on quicksands.
And friendship hangs in the balance.
Easy to pull up the drawbridge and just turn away. Defensive pretences.
The old words slip into place; "it doesn't matter. It doesn't"
Wrap the grey fabric tighter. Remember. What's torn asunder
does not reduce the cloth to ash. Wrap myself tight. Remember.
What's real stays real, even if it isn't here tonight.