We sit here with difficulty, at least in a moment long settled in the past. This is a secret between you and I: I am a traveler in my mind, not here, yet not there. I am wherever your eyes may grace me; so I sink into the depth of me, pulling from fading memory.
I never parted my lips, so you did. I am tormented by your waiting stare; I could never react in a manner suitable. It was a recurring cycle. My hands could never find its rhythm; they constantly sought solace in yours.
We would bicker, and I would remain, weighed down with the blame: heavy, drowning under the dread of it all. I still have trouble finding the courage to speak. The gait of you imprinted; I curse the receding figure.
This is the time spent apart. Time is the enemy. Instead of healing wounds, it’s a stark reminder of the permanent distance. I sought a catalyst for change but remain crushed by selfish inhibition.