Why do we fold into ourselves after every fight?
And allow our bodies to get used to loss?
It starts as a tightening of the stomach
and moves up into the ribcage,
nestles in the chest
and gurgles out forced laughter.
Why haven’t we learnt how to be good at disagreeing?
The distance between you and I is punctuated
with so much ego and expectations
that we’re unable to save our friendship
Your good has streaks of bad
and my bad makes a mess of the good
You love in small doses and I stay dishing out
extra spoonfuls before anybody asks for more
I want to spit out my trauma and you want to ignore it
I pin grudges to my chest and you pretend it doesn’t exist
Anger begets pain begets distance begets silence
And grief descends like a heavy weight
Until this friendship becomes a fading memory of an old town