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Sorry: From the Shoulder On Which You Cry
He fell too deep for me to follow suit
(Some-days I drink in the cornflower blue of his irises and
To-day I can pick out the weary, tasteless dregs of a friend who isn’t there.)
It’s half a lie, but the point is moot
(I want to steal the worried red of his lips, heal the teary red of his eyes, feel the grain of pale skin like sand,
I want to soothe the mark of the one who stripped him bare)
The longing howl of the owl’s hoot
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This article has 2 comments.
It's hard, when someone you care very much about is going through rough times, and there is nothing you can do to help. Even just being there, patiently listening, feels useless; knowing that they're hurting is enough to upset everything.