Whispered "I'll see you next summer" as I disappeared down into the terminal. We both know that that's not true, but it's easier than facing the truth or you.
Because distance it's just a series of numbers, or inches on a map. I have nothing left to say to you right now that I won't regret.
All I need is a tin can and string.
I haven't heard from you in months.
I can read between the lines
but barely noticed it read no vacancy.
For the past few months I've felt indifferent. Kept my distance. It's how I keep myself protected. Like a turtle without its shell. Like a bee without a hive. I'm withering into my sheets.
They all said it would be better in time.
It's tiring keeping company with yourself.
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