There are only one millions things to say to you
I cant say more than one, you do not respond to me
when I am humbled by you, impressed by you, wanting to impress you, I feel weak
should a friend not lift you up?
should I stop lifting you as I do?
and why does your voice sound so stale and harsh in my ear?
my memory of us is vauge, unfamiliar and cold
and you are new to me, like a child who has grown to her mother's dismay into something she doesnt recognize anymore.
i was away, not to my fault, and you are farther than i was half way around the world.
we will pick up again by neither of our choices, though i'vd tried.
and i will not say anything to you but thank you for welcoming me back, and how much i've missed you.
i wont lie, i have missed you.
but i wont tell you the truth either.
truth frees us, and makes us vulnerable. you can keep lying to me. we will drift away soon enough without any ending.
as if the last pages of a book bore us, and we set it down, pages dog-eared forever, lend it away and never quite read enough into it enough to care about the ending.
but thank you for a great mbeginning if it was nothing else
