We do not talk anymore.
Only in celebrations and birthdays forgotten.
The same We that were talking and weren't stop until dawn.
Perhaps that is why we don't talk anymore.
Because we have said everything without ever saying nothing.
In silence you had been gone and so silently I left.
Without grand words and without words that definitively closed the door behind us with pain. No, you just asked "that was it?" and a "yes" followed.
But were we ever abided by this?Always looking for occasion and stealing moments to say "hello, how are you? Long time no see".
Always leaving our wounds open somewhere when the conversation has remained vague. And since then we stopped goodbyes.
Perhaps we wanted to have the windows open to get fresh air and so as we. But no matter how many windows we have been let open and no matter how many doors we kept half-open we are not in the same place anymore.I am here and you are so far away.
And our distance gets bigger, and our lives get lost in other moments and in other people.
And we do not talked anymore, we do not know the lives we have built all this time long we are apart. Perhaps that's better because then it would hurt above. It suffices me to know that you are fine and you still means something to me and know that I mean something for you, even if this is unfair for us and more for others.
It suffices me to talk then and remember this beat of my heart every time I heard this ding and still feel the same. Talks about nothing but still so meaningful.
Always between jokes, with a touch of eroticism, our window ,all that what we let to has been meant.
Perhaps this window was never clear but always blurred so to change our idols.
Maybe that's why. We do not talk that much.Or the reason we still talk sometimes. Who knows?
We do not talk anymore.
Only at celebrations and birthdays forgotten.
Cause we are afraid of the truth. The truth, that we made mistakes. The truth, that we feared to be together. That we maybe never be what we wanted. Maybe we are afraid to do that precisely, and there is the fear that magic will be lost through this little rusty window.
That's why we did not talk anymore, as often as we did.
To keep us through time.
Or swallow us slowly..