Today I drove to your house,
but I didn’t.
Every kilometre was a quiet ache,
a reminder of the road I wasn’t taking,
the turn I couldn’t bring myself to make.
I was right there,
close enough to feel the gravity of what we were,
and still I drove on by.
So near, yet heartbreakingly far.
It was someone else’s house,
a dinner party,
small talk and warm lights, pleasant enough.
But the whole time I knew
you were five minutes away,
and somehow
a million miles from me,
lost in a time I can’t return to,
a time where we still existed,
before silence settled
where your voice used to be.
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