Upon these aching shoulders I hold a tower of arguments getting old wielded like a giant sword built in our many battles before

layer by layer over the years held together by crusted tears piles we carry with us now to swing, when threatened, above our rusted crowns

staggering below their massive weight swinging in hopes to “set things straight” until we both grow tired and weak fuming and barely able to speak

I fear for our future, if I’m being true that soon the weight will outgrow us two one swing and the piles will collapse to dust covering all that we ever knew as Us

And what if we find, after so many years the Us we knew became the piles we feared that our bond is now built upon the times we didn’t get along

Will this be how our love ends? from decades ago between two dear friends to watching the dust settle on the love we had told ourselves was strong