Happy or sad, always extreme,
No in-between, it may seem.
What's in the middle, I ask,
"I miss you" is a common task.
From silent ones who just view,
For over a month, it's not new.
But what's missed, is it real?
Often just texts for boredom appeal.
Better not to respond, I find,
To avoid a chat that's unkind.

I ponder why, when someone's gone,
Love seems to shine, like the dawn.
Or is it just fake love's guise,
That surfaces when the person flies?
Faces painted like an angel on a page,
Yet they knew not the real backstage.
A friend took her life last week,
Leaving me in a mystery to seek.
People say silence comes with loss,
But she chatted, not showing the cost.
I kept my sadness to myself,
Sympathy from the unknown does little else.
Glad for the chance to say goodbye,
Not writing on a farewell sky.

Isolation grows, distancing from the known,
No heart for the fake, I've outgrown.


© camvickbone