The divide that’s grown between
has widened over time—
the subtle, well-toiled furrow,
now a rift, of deep decline.
When did this passionate divide
become more like a gulf?
And when did our discussions
become a chore, less worthy of?
No enmity in this regret,
just bitter disappointment.
The trials and travails, it seems,
one more source of discontentment.
The divide that’s grown between,
a living end for all our crimes.
The divide that’s grown between,
a border, now defined.
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I think you need a few bridges.
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But Chelsea, what then would I have to write about? 😉
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Um… Bridges?
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Now that’s just a bridge too far 😉
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I was going for troubled waters.
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Dang! How did I miss that?! Well now I’M troubled. 🙂
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