Epilogue/Afterword

We make amends with our quiet misconceptions; 

with the weight of our worries whirling within. 

We move around with measured disposition, 

hoping to strike up a genuine conversation or two. 

A simple smile feels oh so stretched for miles and miles, 

taking us farther away from each other; 

and all those millions of daisies in discomfort 

wave their disdain at us with a sigh.  

We try to avoid staring at each other's eyes, 

afraid that we might begin to care again. 

I wonder if it was love to begin with? 

For love is not enough to explain this sadness. 

We sit across from each other everyday 

lifting memories, like paperweights, 

to hold our own ego and pride in place 

before they clutter our lives once more.  

The table is spotless and pristine, 

the cups placed neatly above the rack. 

I cleaned them all the night before, 

while you arranged them all tonight.