Old Friends

All bright times pass.

Friends become strangers

Laughter fades to awkward smiles.

And why are you so awkward around me?

Have I changed terribly?

I'm selfish as always and ever

That has not changed.

I am contented to sit by your side,

Talk about this and that.

But is there something of your spirit gone?

Have I ceased to inspire that mania

That so endeared me to you once.

I cringe at my own feelings

Objectifying you again.

As if you were a machine

That took me as an input

And fed me vitality.

How do you feel?

What are you thinking?

Why do you return?

What do you fear?

Who do you love?

Oh, you are inscrutable to me!

And I fear this is a symptom

Of how I may never love

Because if I can't read you,

You, who I care for so deeply,

Then who can I read?

Who can I love?

But then again I'm staring in my own reflection

In your face.

The guilt I feel.

And I've gone off talking too much.

And too much about myself.

And I don't know what to ask you

That won't end up sounding like an interrogation.

And then I get angry that maybe you were always this boring

And that I was a fool.

And that I wasted your time and mine

With remembrances that no one wants to remember

And jokes no one wants to laugh at

And insights that really aren't epiphanic at all

But are really just trite things to say

To someone who's not impressed

And never was

And perhaps longed for a more concrete emotional connection

One that I could not give

In my brokenness,

In my flawed conception of our friendship.