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Disconnect I think to the moments when bonds almost form, when a hand, so warm, misses its mark. The stark silence. The nameless lament. We never know what coud have been. We fake a grin and move on but something is gone, something precious that felt like the truth. Tomorrow still comes. The moon and the sun and the vast spinning earth don't care that two hands just barely didn't touch. It might not amount to much, but to us it's loss. We're tossed apart sometimes and land on different tracks. The odds are stacked against those hands but still we demand the resonant depths of each other. And as our voices echo into the caverns between us, one lonely hand reaches out, again and again and again, never truly giving in. ~Droplet | |