We hugged like we both had sunburns keeping our touch light and airy, as to not inflict pain.

 

 

Does this mean we lost face?

Tangled up in awkwardness, with many things left unsaid: as to not probe too deep.

 

 

We are overlooking something pivotal here, right below the fine print and just above the John Hancock’s.

 

 

Does this mean we were dreamers?

Spinning blankets of fabrication and makeshift pillow good nights. Somewhere there, just ahead: all the shit you’ve ever said.

 

 

Yes, I still miss you…