There is no such word as eachother
Is this self-preservation?
This dog-love-dog-hate-dog world?
Something tells me that somewhere in my schedule,
between totalitarian psychology and interior design,
you're hiding in the distant future.
I love your tombstone.
It says 'sorry about the spelling'.
There is no such word as eachother, I knew,
but you didn't, which made it that much more meaningful,
when you corrected me later.
You'll never die, dear.
You'll live forever as a poem.
No one will understand it, or even see the original,
but our conversations in abbreviations weren't meaningless,
although they have lost meaning.
The words might make sense again one day.
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Its been a while since I've written anything that vaguely resembles poetry. Be merciless.
