In the shadow that our hearts cast,
hatred blooms, a stubborn weed
where once grew a garden of trust.

Words, once tender,
shatter like glass,
a bridge collapsing under weight,
echoes of apologies falling into silent abyss.

We deceive ourselves,
clutching memories like
fragments of a broken mirror,
forgetting the faces we wore,
the warmth that once held us close,
burying the past in shallow graves.

A vast network unfurls,
circuitry of disconnection,
new bridges rise on the horizon,
but the arteries lie severed,
thoroughfares overgrown,
forgotten paths leading nowhere.

We navigate this labyrinth,
the ghosts of what was
whispering in the dark,
reminding us
that healing is a slow tide,
and some wounds
never truly mend.