Poetry

The Pride Before, 9 (222.)

How does one build a bridge
to another person
without holding hands?
The connections we make
are so ethereal, and it’s difficult
to truly gauge them.
Sitting outside at night,
watching cats to prevent their escape,
and talking in measured beats –
this is progress, I think.
I am remembering what it’s like
to have
friends.
I need more free time
so we can all
go on adventures and
talk about whatever
comes to mind.

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