In truth, it starts to ache at times—
The wear and tear of all these years
stripped and laid bare eventually.
Anchored at first by steady hands, rough
sand smoothed into fragile gems that stem
and then flower beautifully.

Was it then that we first learned to lie?
Blinding words of trust and submission
as we buried the truth of all our contradictions.
But perhaps we were shaken right from the start,
balanced thin on hoping hearts and frozen
in fear of mistakes and false starts.

Maybe we soon grew complacent; let our words
become frenzied thoughts and phrases
flung at each other in place of conversation.
Maybe you were too demanding, and in turn,
I became too meek, weary from misunderstanding
the love language that we never learned to speak.

We have all but run out of new games to play,
struggling to condense heartache into hope
as we choke on the stench of mistrust and decay.
We are zombies now, rotting through skin and bone,
to break the sticks and grind the stones
of lucid dreams that scream “Alone!”

Tell me, is there freedom here?
Can we find beneath these tears
that block my throat and fan my fears?
Let us journey to the start and hammer out
the winding parts: the sullen nights and tepid days,
the strange perfumes, our stillborn hearts.
I’m sure that in our history
there are words for this eulogy. 

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