he said "another day"
i heard "another lifetime"
because every second that ticked between us felt like ages,
because one good thing i wanted to hear from you had to wait.
i was joyed to know you were happy, but you wouldn't tell me the details.
it's like running your fingers over a beautiful painting but it has no texture, it's not the same.
being around you feels textureless.
we used to tell each other every detail, now we just run over the surface like worn down tires on old roads.
i miss hearing your favorite songs, and showing you pictures of things that were your favorite color.
i miss discussing the bigger pictures of life,
i miss feeling like there was a possibility for something more.
we thrived from it, but for one reason or another you began to pull away,
and rain drenched us, our paint ran, streaming off the canvas,
textureless.
