the things we said and didn't - the re-vision
Friends may kiss on the cheek,
but that depends on
what exactly you consider friends.
I want to tell you how used I feel,
but what is there to say?
You won't like the truth.
The truth is uglier than the rust
that covers your silence filled car.
When we reach my house
and open the doors
I hope the silence flows out.
If we open the windows now,
the suffocating fear of truth
might leak into the atmosphere
like a bad smell.
Still, we grasp for the silence.
We refuse to let go of the abuse
it brings. Silence is the abuser
and we are its naïve, young bride,
for things we shouldn't have to.
As we reach my house, my hope,
for the torturous silence to be diffused
by the fresh, clean air,
dissipates into the springtime.
Our silence grows stronger
despite the rush of the sound
of outdoors begging us to join in
with the noise.
The urge to give in to our fear
grows stronger, but we retaliate
with a restrained embrace
to spite the truth.
We try desperately to ignore
the truth as our goodbyes
come to an end.
The truth is,
friends don't kiss on the cheek.