The conversations have dwindled down
The tea seems less sweeter now
The air always seems like the second wind
On some days, there is no chirp
On most days there is no chatter
On all days there is no chummery
What remains is the voices in the silence
Like the walnut kernel without the walnut
Empty, but with a neat heart shaped hollow
This is what getting "used to" seems like
This is what getting used seems like
This is what being useless seems like
One day the shadows will again play
In the dark, there will be shapes
Of a dream that once we had built.
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