It's just another set of words, laid down on a page settled in with a bit of anger as adhesive; I want to know why seeing them makes me want to cry. It's a pair of dice, tossed together. Frozen in time, up in the air, too far apart to touch, but you know they rubbed against one another when they were in your hand. And maybe when they hit the table they'll roll together again, but when the desk is tilted one way or the other and they fall apart...
It's opening up a page and seeing names on it; feeling like the friendship stretches around and I'm just the viewer. Just someone on the outside, looking in and wishing like the matchgirl for a speck of warmth. Leave me out in the cold and I'll die - but it's not the first time and I swear it won't be the last.
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