the point was moot
lost in translation
you slammed the door
my fingers in the jam
I've been here before
what makes you stronger hurts
apology comes when you are ready
terms and conditions set once again
grass not greener but brown and dead
like the friendship I so miss
you drew the line, I wait
nearby I crouch, willingly
it means too much
I miss it all
the closeness of what once was
lost in translation
you slammed the door
my fingers in the jam
I've been here before
what makes you stronger hurts
apology comes when you are ready
terms and conditions set once again
grass not greener but brown and dead
like the friendship I so miss
you drew the line, I wait
nearby I crouch, willingly
it means too much
I miss it all
the closeness of what once was
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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