I scream
For the days when nothing mattered,
the days when others’ chatter
didn’t burn me
or threaten to turn me
inside out.
I yearn
For when looking into others’ faces
meant I would always find traces
of kindness and honesty,
something they promised me
would never run out.

But leaves have been thrown
where new grass has grown
through thinning layers of snow
on top of leaves that were strewn
the previous year.
And ceilings became higher
as halls were built wider
and so many of the kinder
people I knew became liars
I wished not to hear.

They ran out of kindness,
replaced it with blindness,
and the darkest of glasses
could not fix their vision
-or mine.
For I could no longer find traces
in these, now, unfamiliar faces
of the honest friends
who’d stood by my side.


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