a term that I can tell
doesn't mean much to you.
Call me one,
seems like many do,
it’s not a bad idea.
I fell right through your fingers
like a grain in a handful of sand.
A grain that fell,
then blended well
with the rest on the beach.
Bet you never thought
of me that way, did you?
Good luck finding me again.
We're not exactly friends.
Use to be,
sure, but
what exactly
do you know about me?
Forget what you use to know. . .
WHAT DO YOU KNOW NOW?
What’s that I hear?
Radio silence. . .
I'm a book open as wide as it can be,
yet how is it you know so little about me?
A relationship like dead air-
all I’m hearing is static.
Don't you understand?
I don't know you anymore,
I haven't for quite some time.
