Sometimes I wish you would act like a boy.
I'm past the withdrawal.
But I need to know,
did we survive in tacit?
Or was it just me in my peccadillo.
Then can I say you broke precious heart in it's fragility and vulnerability.

Now to reminisce is sisyphean.
Because it's piecing broken porcelain in the wind.

I'm past the withdrawal,
but you know rekindle.

Do you have a soul, really.
Can you connect with anything?
Can you actually connect and then feel the pain of separation.