Our expectations fail us
So we tire
Somber, removed, neglected, crushed
There's a wall
Built by two hands
Time, selfishness, pride
No window pane
To even look through
Depression, isolation, insanity
Etched into the walls
Reflecting like mirrors
We miss creating
Writing, listening, tasting, loving
There're no substitues
For just being yourself
Honest, scared, lonely
Circles don't fit squares
We still try
Shuffling, mixing, shattering, gorging
But two hands
Are all it takes
Humble, patient, vulnerable, mortal
Fingers threaded together
Sewn tight by commonality
Whispering, stepping, sitting
Dipping crusts into tea
Naturally becoming friends
Invested, open , restored
