I hate that we're ghosts
Set adrift through the world
Pretending what we had
Perished in a fire of our own making
The dreams that we shared
Only whispers on a faint breeze
Blowing frivolously into the space between
I hate that the best of friends
Drift apart
As if they were sailing a raging sea
Washing ashore in the unknown
I hate
In the end
That it was I
That killed the most precious
Dream I've ever held
