Charades

As always, the hateful quiet descends. I know I am alone. Politeness follows. We smile, and the conversation goes nowhere. Goodbye, I’ll say in a moment. See you again, I’ll add. That’s not completely untrue. We’ll see each other around, but we’ll never see each other.

I’m growing tired of these charades: Feigned friendship, feigned interest, feigned care. It is always under their breath, “Move along. Move along.”

I’ll move along, no one beside me. I think I’ll stop searching. I know in the end I’ll always go on. I’ll ask them to come, but my friends always grow quiet.

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