The path:
Ahead of me lies a path, and on the floor there’s a sign broken and beat, on it?
“The path back to you.”.
It stretches as far as the eye can see, actually it never ends. I know it never ends, my gut tells me that - yet I walk the path anyway.
All I want is everything I had back.
But it’s too late, and it’s my fault.
As I walk, the path seems to get longer, as soon as I think I see the end - I wind back up at the beginning again. Further than I was before. The sky darkens and the branches turn sharp and mean, so I guess I’m having those horrible dreams where you’re still my friend.
Every time I have to meet new people I fear that they just pretend to like me, that reminds me of everything you said. You could see it all written on my face, every word.
What good is it me trying to move on when I see all of our dead memories hanging from the trees?
Then I’m back on the path.
Wishing I had kept mouth shut.
Wishing my heart hadn’t turned friendship into unreciprocated love.
I’m still walking down that path, I find a shortcut.
So I move onto it.