The Unwritten Lessons of Connection

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The Unwritten Lessons of Connection

I lost the ones I thought would be
An immutable part of my life’s tapestry,
Woven forever. Their sudden fraying left
A hollow space, of laughter now bereft.
A loss not just of presence, but of promised time,
Of futures guaranteed, of permanence sublime.

I lost the endless, open channel’s flow,
The casual intimate, the profound talk’s low.
The message history remains, a silent tomb,
But the living dialogue has met its doom.
I lost the shared language, the inside joke’s release,
The easy flow of thought that came with sustained peace.

I lost. And yet, a nagging question stays:
How to reclaim it all through monumental days?
More honest now, a deeper query rings:
Do I want the fragments back, the broken things,
Or is this void an opportunity instead,
For a different, stronger rebuilding from the dead?

I am Socially Impaired, a deep deficiency,
No compass for connection’s subtle geography.
I cannot decode the rules that ever shift,
To make a friend, or keep one from the drift.
No knowledge of the delicate dance to start,
Nor sustained effort to hold a drifting heart.

The world outside, a dizzying, digital torrent,
Of career demands, and social lives hyper-currant.
My mind, a labyrinth of static and confusion,
Makes reaching out a Herculean illusion.
The busy world’s quick rhythm, my slow, internal pace,
Exacerbate the disconnect in this human space.

I am Socially Impaired, an alien I feel,
A non-native in a world that seems unreal.
Effortless for others, each social interaction
Requires exhausting, conscious translation.
Lost in this world of confusion, inescapable, vast,
The mechanics of connection hold me fast.

What proper alchemy transforms the passing name,
An acquaintance pleasant, into a trusted flame?
What ritual’s required to solidify the friend,
To confidant and pillar, on whom one can depend?
How to tend this garden so it thrives, not withers thin?
The vital lessons of these bonds were never written in.

In this struggle, I lost my authentic self’s deep call,
My unique longings muffled by the noise of it all.
Lost beneath the effort to be what others sought,
My own desires indistinct, in the battles fought.

I lost the subtle nuances, the unspoken art,
The reading of the body, the comforting hand’s part.
The effortless mirroring of mood, the perfect timing’s grace,
The tools that equip others to master social space.
Without them, I operated blind in the dense fog,
Lost in isolation’s self-doubt, like a log.

But then a tectonic shift occurred within the night,
The fog dispersed, pierced by an internal light.
The finding was no external, sudden grace,
But a revelation born from that empty space.

I Found a core of unshakeable strength inside,
No longer contingent on where others reside.
A self-sustaining power, a bedrock I possess,
To hold and to rely upon in times of stress.

I Found new forms of connection, soul-deep and true,
With people who truly see me, and see me anew.
Bonds built on mutual resilience, not proximity’s plea,
These are the conversations that will not end for me.

I Found a powerful, relentless love, not on condition,
A self-acceptance, a profound self-compassion.
No longer scanning horizons for where worth has fled,
I carry the source within, in the words I have said.
It is a love that will not quit, a permanent estate,
A fortress built from inside, sealed by my own gate.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Echo of Regret: A Vow Against Futility

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The Echo of Regret: A Vow Against Futility

The shadow falls, a failure in my sight,
Disappointment’s echo, haunting day and night.
Regret’s cold hand upon my waking thought,
A hollow dream, the battle that we fought.

A profound, persistent ache resides within,
A deep, visceral wound where grief begins.
Each time the news arrives, a soul has gone,
The numbers climb, yet tragedy lives on.

For those now lost within the heavy fog,
This deep despair, no fleeting shadow slog,
It raises questions that torment the soul:
How could we shield them, how regain control?

What could I, personally, have done to reach,
To pull them back, beyond the final beach?
Why do such vibrant lives, with potential vast,
End in this final, devastating, broken blast?

The pain, a sickening, immediate jolt,
A punch that leaves me breathless and unbolt.
Another one lost, a cycle we can’t cease,
The repetition numbs, yet sharp remains the piece.

A desperate cry: What can be truly done,
When the tide of loss engulfs the rising sun?
We must find answers, a pathway to prevent,
A strategy of hope, with all our power lent.

What can we do, right now, with urgent plea,
To stop this cycle of futility?
They were too young, their promise yet untold,
A song cut short, a story left untold.

Reduced to cold, impersonal distress,
A public crisis we cannot suppress.
The lives they were, a silence left behind,
Deafening echoes of the best of humankind.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Ashes and Dust

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Ashes and Dust

It was not a solo journey,
It was meant for both of us to keep.
A path shared, a mutual destiny,
A bond where promises run deep.
We walked side by side, our footprints one,
A single narrative of hope begun.

But the story broke, the path was closed,
I stood on the chasm’s crumbling brim,
As a silhouette, slowly transposed
Into the inevitable, growing dim.
The ‘we’ became an ‘I’, a hollow sound,
In this desolate, forsaken ground.

Ashes and dust are all that stay
Of the bright fire we held in trust,
A barren landscape, grey today,
Where life dissolved in the air’s cruel gust.
The physical presence is no more,
Leaving the grit of loss upon the floor.

Then voices come from the periphery,
Offering platitudes in careful phrase.
They say, “It is not personal, you see,”
A necessary turn in cosmic haze.
A consequence, unavoidable and stark,
A wheel that turns and leaves no malice mark.

They speak these words, so cold and clinical,
To soothe a wound they cannot comprehend.
Do they expect a heart, now critical,
To take this lie, this foolishness they send?
To call abandonment ‘impersonal’ then claim
It takes the searing edges from the pain?

It is a construct, fragile and designed
To shield their own complicity from view.
Lies and more lies are spun to leave behind
Their failures of commitment, wholly true.
The architects of ruin hide their face,
Behind the veil of fate or bureaucratic space.

They see my silence and begin to doubt,
Why I won’t trust their flimsy, weak assurance;
They wonder why my quiet stays throughout
Their clumsy, hollow show of endurance.
Is their concern a genuine desire to know
The depth of the betrayal’s silent blow?

Or is the query just a social art,
A reflex uttered in a scripted play?
Do they care for me, the broken, scattered part,
Or am I just a failure they wish away?
I let the fine, particulate dust stream in—
The dust of forgetting, where true wounds begin.

I scan the empty space, a vacant stare,
Where is the circle that was meant to hold?
I know they exist, breathing their own air,
In parallel worlds of comfort, brave and bold.
Not here with me, not for me in this plight,
Not in the core of this seismic, lonely night.

It was meant to be the two of us, you see,
Walking the sunset, weathering the storm.
The fundamental premise of our entity.
But I was left alone, without the warm,
Not just abandoned, but deliberately selected
For solitary confinement, unprotected.

A cold clarity begins its slow, strange birth,
The isolation may not be a curse,
But a final, hard-won gift of self-worth.
Maybe it’s best to sift these ashes terse,
Unbound by promises that turned to frail dust.
In this quiet, hard-won peace is final trust.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Shattered Image

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The Shattered Image

The depth of my disappointment is immense,
I truly thought you were a person of integrity,
Whose every action would align, with no pretense,
With the strong character you seemed to be.
“I thought you were better” is too mild to say;
I saw in you a loyalty I sought to find,
A moral standard now just dust and clay,
A shattered image of a perfect mind.

The thing you did, or failed to do, you see,
Was not a simple letdown; “it crushed me” whole.
It was a devastating blow to my reality,
A chasm swallowing my trusting soul.
I had invested trust and boundless hope,
An extraordinary quantity of “faith in you,”
To find it misplaced, I now must grope,
A personal failure, though the fault is true.

Our bond, which I so dearly held and prized,
Was based on a belief in shared pure light.
“I thought we were actually friends,” I realized,
Now every memory feels contaminated, blight.
Each moment shared, each secret I confessed,
Feels poisoned by the knowledge I now hold,
That “that’s a lie, and it’s always been a lie,” unblessed.
A friendship’s illusion, turning cold.

My estimation of you reached the stars,
“Maybe I thought more highly of you than you think of yourself.”
I held you past your self-imposed high bars,
More than you were capable of from your shelf.
I believed you held a goodness and a strength,
A beautiful essence that does not exist.
“Maybe I thought more of you than you truly are,” at length,
The gap between the ideal and the actual persists.

My admiration wasn’t born from my own plight,
For I appreciated what I thought you were.
I never claimed perfection, or to be the light:
“I don’t think I am special; I thought you were.”
I know my faults; I am not so grand:
“I don’t think I am great; I thought you were.”
My self-regard is low, I understand:
“I don’t think highly of myself, but I thought highly of you.”

The burden of this pain, in a dark way,
Rests on my shoulders for this foolish crime.
“I guess I was wrong to put that much faith in you,” I say.
The name of “friend” was sacred, but I wasted time:
“I guess I was wrong to call you a friend.”
My error was this desperate, naive dream,
That you would prove me right until the end:
“I guess I was wrong; I wanted you to be better.”

And so I cycle through this self-inflicted doubt,
Were my expectations too far out of reach?
“I guess I was wrong, maybe it’s just me,” I shout.
But the ultimate truth that the facts now preach:
“I guess I was wrong; I put too much faith in you.”
I took your potential for your very core:
“I guess I was wrong, believing in you,” it’s true.
I can’t believe in you anymore.

The desolate conclusion is the clear refrain:
“I guess I was wrong.” A simple, crushing sound.
For in your actions, truth gives way to pain:
“I guess I meant nothing to you” that I have found.
The end of my faith is the end of what we were.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Sponges and the Soul

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Sponges and the Soul

Some people are like sponges.
They soak up whatever is around them,
And then pour it out on others.

When they are with good people,
They absorb your goodness,
And then pour it out on others.

When they are around toxic people,
They become like them,
And then pour it out on others.

Don’t be a sponge.
Know who you are.
Beware of sponges and always be the good person
So the sponges can soak up your goodness.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

100%

100%

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I thought you were my certain shield,
The one true, steadfast, loyal friend.
A naive conviction, now revealed,
That you would stand until the end,
No matter the storm, the challenge faced,
Your full resolve, completely placed.

I sought a fierce, unwavering vow,
A pure defense, holding nothing back,
A perfect pledge, as you know how,
To guard my ground along the track.
A hundred percent, my only plea,
Undeniable fealty.

But that fierce certainty is gone,
A shattered faith, a painful lie.
I wake to realize at dawn,
I lack the worth that merits why—
I’m not enough, I see it clear,
To warrant that support so dear.

The wound of ‘sorry’ is a slight,
A shallow balm that cannot mend
The hollow ache of broken light;
It will not bring the hurt to end.
For others hold a higher seat,
They taste the loyalty I greet.

And so, the starkest truth remains,
A bitter draught I must consume:
To face the isolating rains,
To walk alone within the gloom.
I must accept, in every plight,
I stand completely by my light.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

The Illusion of Kinship

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They claim the name of “friend,” a title bright,
Yet stand as distant as the stars’ cold light.
Their voices, once a vibrant, clear refrain,
Now reach the ear as faint, distorted pain,
Lost, perhaps, in some far, forgotten bar.
They speak of history, of shared delight,
A woven tapestry of days gone by,
But in this stark and unforgiving now,
Only their deep, loud silence makes a vow—
A painful echo, truer than their word.

A Hollow Bond

What lingers is a hollow, empty shell,
A bond without true grace or truth to tell.
A fleeting shadow, swift to disappear,
Leaving no trace upon the heart held dear.
How dare they wear that loyal title still,
When constant absence proves against their will
A bond untrue, a pretense built on air?
Friendship’s true essence is betrayed by care
And presence that they utterly withhold,
A story of detachment, stark and cold.

Unkept Promises and Letting Go
This fragile friendship rose on broken ground,
Of promises unkept, no solace found.

Aspirations whispered, never meant to bloom,
Commitments scattered to an early tomb.
A frail construction, easily swept wide
By life’s small currents, or convenient tide.
The time has come for separation’s plea,
A painful truth that sets the spirit free.
So cherish those whose actions speak of grace,
Whose faithful presence keeps its steady pace.
And with resolve, and self-respect’s strong hand,
Let go of those who fail to understand
The burden shared, the joy, the vital art,

Required to keep a true bond in the heart.

https://books2read.com/u/m25Ygd

Silent Whispers Turned to Dread

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Silent Whispers Turned to Dread

A tiny bud, a dream unseen,
Took root within, a verdant sheen.
My body bloomed, a vessel warm,
To nurture life safe from the storm.

But silent whispers turned to dread,
An empty echo where hope once tread.
The fragile bloom began to fade,
A hollow ache, a love betrayed.

Tears fall like rain on barren ground,
A symphony of sobs resound.
My arms reach out, a grasping plea,
For what I held, I cannot see.

The world moves on, a careless beat,
Oblivious to this crushing defeat.
But in my heart, a love remains,
A whispered name, etched in the rains.

Though grief may linger, sharp and cold,
A tiny seed in memory holds.
I’ll learn to dance with loss and pain,
And hope one day, love blooms again.

Gone

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Gone
 
We used to talk
We used to confide
In each other 
But now that is gone.

Something we loved is gone
Broke and gone
Can we still call each other friends?
Will you still be there for me,
When our craft is gone, can we still be kind?

But you made your mind up.
And now it's over!
Your choice, not mine! 
It's time for me to go.

Meaningless

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The time I put in was meaningless.
Talking to them, listening to them, letting them cry to me.
Listening to them cry, complain as any friend would do.

Do you change who you are?
Not be a good friend to others?
No, of course not. 

Those who chose to replace a friend like me,
Lose in the end.
Those who chose to replace a friend like me,
Lose the person who will do anything for them.
Lose the one who would stand up for you.
Lose the person who checks on you.
Lost the person who cares about you.

Their loss and another person’s gain.