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



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