They say that distance's key to love

   They say we're picturesque

Of youthful romantics born of stars

      Their eyes glance off the mess

Always fighting, shouting, crying

   Disasters behind closed doors

Slapping on smiles, pasting on grins

      No more, I say, no more

Swollen shut, hoarse and dry,

   I ask for time alone

To think, I say, to find myself

      Ignoring your gentle tone

Years go by without a word

   And I wonder how it went

That I once dreaded leaving when

I'm standing here, content