quiver

i cower in my office chair, listening to bonobo
and i'm scared to death both of seeing you
and being denied the chance

it's easy to say how over it i am
how i can't even imagine my old life
curled in quiet repose between orange walls that
hummed with the whispers we shared

but the idea of having to see firsthand how much
of a stranger you've become
makes me tremble

not out of forlorn love lost
frayed at the edges
but out of sheer curiosity
for the hope that some sliver of
amitie remains

how isolate we've become, dear