ashtree

A letter to my almost

We are every pair that never was

Horribly broken by each other

Under the influence of a buzz

In my mind, we lay in the same bed

Never crossing the distance

I suppose we’d rather be alone

Than admit our own weakness

My almost, I think we bleed the same

Our scars are mirror images

I know that we were harsh before

But those were just instances

I miss the sharpness of your tongue

Craving the taste of all-night conversation

Where I could listen and debate with you

Lying dazed in pure admiration

However, we are both realists

And our hearts know this to be true

I will halfway get there, but never quite

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