Connected

Have I ever held anything as gently as I am holding your gaze? 

I feel its warmth across my face. 

In our hands are steaming cups of tea

That for the life of me, I can't seem to taste. 

The pot could tip over and we'd hardly notice. 

There are few words spoken aloud, the rest transmitted through the sound of our hearts pitter pattering in code:

do I have news to tell you!

you'll never guess what happened 

Girl, what are you up to

I'd forgotten what it felt like. 

To reach across the table and find a hand, open and waiting. 

To utter a thought and hear its echo reflected right back. 

We are twelve again,

Unladylike laughter spilling over our lips

You still tug the truth from me with an unrelenting grip. 

We are sweet and sixteen. 

Our hands gesticulating wildly, smacking our hips. 

We are young and hopeful, giddy in our naiveté. 

At twenty, our battered feet are making their way to firm ground. 

Over there in the distance, the sun is taking its final bow

But the day is no less brighter. 

In our rickety chairs, we have drifted back and forth in time. 

Lavishly detailed decorated tales of the past

Cautious reports of the present 

Harried whispers of the future, looming ahead of us

This is where we run out of things to say

The spell is wearing off, and we'll go our separate ways

Sometimes I fear we're just playing pretend. 

It's true you are my friend

But a bigger truth looms ahead. 

That we are no longer the vibrant colours of our youth

Every second we stay is tinged with grey

Almost as if to say, we are more monument than moment

Memory than reality

A perfect picture encased in frame

And on that note, 

I can finally taste my tea:

Bittersweet