Interrelation and Other Works

Residual

You spoke in jest,
a shadowed game, a facade.
When I whispered my pain,
you claimed it was nothing,
that I was merely overreacting.

I sought connection,
a bridge to understanding,
but my words fell like leaves,
dismissed and disregarded.
In your silence, I felt the weight
of being a burden,
an echo in the void.

Attempts to unravel the tangle
only met with a closed door,
a retreat into quietude
that urged me to vanish.
What am I to perceive in this dance?
Your presence suggests I should depart.

You spoke of self-pity,
your tone sharp as winter's breath,
gestures equal to walls closing in,
all declaring an end,
an exodus from "us."

I pleaded for gentleness,
a balm for the wounds you inflict,
but you raised your hands in surrender,
abandoning the path we walked.
Seeking refuge in silence,
your discontent loomed large.

You said I sought to dictate your voice,
when I merely asked for respect,
a plea for heartstring's true enclosure.
Is this too great a request,
in the shared tapestry of our lives?