arqios

nev

 

neville.

 

Neville, mate—where’d you gone off to?
Off for smokes? Chasing meaning on a detour?
Two calendar flips and your chair’s still vacant,
Empty mug, tea ring dried

like a scab that won’t be forgotten.

The group chat’s lost its spark—

no wisecracks, no truths (or even half-truths).
Did you punch the clock here, or sign in somewhere cosmic?
We’re all ears for a sign—even typoed, even cryptic.
Just give a “hey”—in your style, for us all.

 

 

 

 

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