This time, I won't talk about love.
Its fruits and venom.
Its suns and maelstroms.
Stirring in my mind's cove.
This time, I see us as perfect strangers.
Different origins and dialects.
Roads that happen to intersect.
Hearts waving different banners.
This time, I wait for just reasons.
Not to get your attention.
Nor to divide into fractions.
Make the mind commit treason.
This time, I will sit down and realise
That I shouldn't compete
Against eight-year feats
Of relationships you prioritise.
This time, I let time.
If it may, to let something grow
Between us tomorrow.
This time, I let time.
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