Can you really call it a friendship if it isn’t anything more than toleration?
Emptiness filled with random faces clutter her eyes.
No strategy to her approach, just blind eyes and flailing arms.
Her hands released the rope she held swinging into his life.
No ticking biological clock to keep me in rhythm with what I should be doing with my life.
Manifestations written in erasable ink for when reality hits the glass ceiling.
No bread crumbs laid to mark the path we both follow.
Already I’m apologizing and we haven’t even started yet.
