It’s hard when I always trip,
Because we are not friends
When you become goodbyes and hearts through text,
Rather than color and pierced ears,
I start finding it hard, because
You were the braids in my hair, and
The pull at my unsmiling lips.
I can’t read through abandoned stories,
They were not yours or mine
They were ours, and
I hate thinking of you with a flood of nostalgia,
I can always hear my thoughts drowning.
When I first met you,
You were books and t-shirts and useless debates,
And you were my best friend.
Now we’re not friends or strangers,