the blahblahs

That sense of unfamiliarity,
Distant, like a stranger,
You brushed past on a bustling footpath.

And yet there's the tinge of sorrow,
Of a 'what could have been'
For, memories you have memorized,
The face imprinted in your soul.
And yet the whirlwinds inside the head,
You know no more.

Conversations become an endless calorie gaining exercise,
Pointless and dehydrating,
Both left gasping for fresh air,
A respite from the staleness.

So hurriedly goodbyes are uttered,
Promises of a catch-up later,
Both aware of the lies behind it all.
Rendezvous there will be none.


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