These are the things of which we do not speak,
those heavy, disheartened masses that sit behind your eyes,
tug at the corners of my smile.
These are the words we donít say,
the lonely syllables that are relegated to that dark,
unconquered part of our consciousness.
These are the endearments we do not share,
lost in years of empty sentences,
These are the promises we donít keep,
never meant in the first place,
too late to take back now.
These are the memories on which we do not linger,
stopped making altogether,
forgot to sentimentalize.
These are the feelings we no longer have,
packed away in narrow boxes,
left to gather dust in the unbreachable space between us.
These are the times we realize it wasnít worth it,
canít ever be salvaged,
nothing left for which to stay.
Yet still we remain,
clawing at each other to find them again,
and knowing that we never will.