I don't like the way that your life irks you
It's not so bad to have such big shoes
It is only that they have to,
Be filled
The distance between our hands
Is my sculpture or painting
Whichever one I create,
It is the same, no meaning
Stuck between the space of your fingers
Where we traced our names
Soon I'll find the tree I'll die under,
Moving through the roots and water
Whichever path I take,
It's the same, no meaning
I am losing touch,
God, I miss you so much
You mend your cracks in your own way,
And that is ok

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