Split

 When the rings suddenly turn

Into busy engaged tones…

It stings.

When the once secret holder

Had turned into the closest stranger…
It stings.

When the time taken for those double ticks

To get alive takes longer…

It stings.

When the voice that complements yours

In the happy chirp of chit chat is not mine…

It stings.

When those half bitten wafers

Usually snatched still remains in my hand…

It stings.

When the once awesome two-some

Had become hell limit bore-some…

It stings.

When it stings, the belief of red twine

That holds us together rips bit by bit.

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