Bubbles rising higher,
Multiply through the sky,
Focusing on each one till they merge into
One big facade.
You say it was a
"misunderstanding",
But each of the silhouetted memories
Of your habit--
you ridiculed me.
Why should I give back what you lacked?
Pouts and questions define your judgement,
You play a facade of concern.
No more;
Find another game to play in the time
You spent with those bubbles without even touching them.
For where is the truth in a room full of bubbles
And no bath in sight to wash them all off?
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