I didn’t know you well.
But maybe next time I will make that effort.
Except I didn’t know.
I’m not good at people stuff, or rather I’m not always sure where to draw the line and then I realise I’ve let the colours become blurred and I don’t know how to get them back.
I didn’t know that we shared the same disease; the same dis-ease; the same sorrow; the same anguish; the same anything.
I keep thinking about you and wishing I’d reached out
Before you were more than a memory