When I look through that glass to see where we are from what we had…
I feel ashamed for feeling sad.
Your enthusiasm doesn’t spark me.
Same glow I used to know, because your enthusiasm doesn’t show.
Weak at the knee’s in my chest like the last line of obituary laid to rest.
A pinnacle of broken parts, a car that won’t start and other things which….
Broken, wounded, floundered, scolded, a thousand things I should have shouldered.
An opportunity perhaps to correct our mistakes.
Who’ll make the first move?
I bet neither….so we wait.
©G.P Williamson 2017