By Synthia Tashfi
Look at us exchanging words all the time,
And yet, we haven’t said a single thing.
Is it the lack of attention or the indifference?
What we have is worse than a fling.
It isn’t wrong to converse about the mundane,
Our daily struggles might be in need to be relieved of some pain.
But my core earns for more,
it wants interest,
it wants bonding,
The comfort of sitting in silence, us door to door.
Who am I to complain though,
What do I bring to the table?
Can’t even confront matters
with people who matter,
Nor have I faced the Almighty in a while,
The one heart-to-heart that truly matters.
Look at us exchanging words all the time,
Who am I to complain though?
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