As Thyself
The grass is getting greener, incomparable on either side. 
Observe—they're different shades, nonetheless a beautiful palette to the naked eye. 
Trees, still leafless, and allergy season has yet to arrive. 
If I could, I'd wait outside, watching springtime breathe everything back to life. 
 
We don't have to talk politics, and I've seen conflicting values break friendships. 
We don't have to talk at all; just sit here with me in the quiet. 
If you'd like to play some tunes, you can throw on the playlist we made for me and you. 
Oh how I love comfortable silence, and how I miss lakeside sunset views for two. 
 
I remember wondering around Walmart, tag-teaming boredom as time flew. 
Dragging you along to sniff funky candles scented "Tennessee Whiskey Stew."
Time fades love, or that's what they all keep saying. 
In my opinion, it just tracks the aches of our days away. 
 
We really weren't supposed to be, the two of us both knew. 
We understood this too soon, yet let our hearts mend and bloom. 
You have yours now, and I'm patiently awaiting for mine. 
Truly, I hope you have found your forever "good morning" and "goodnight". 
 
The grass is blooming flowers on my side of the picket. 
And jokes on you, these orchids craft beautifully—hypoallergenic. 
I've had my fair share of struggles, attacks so unwarranted. 
But my apple tree grows over property lines, and tomorrow I'm tearing down the fence. 



Friday 7 March 2025