In the dim-lit corners of forgotten bars,
where smoke and whispers coil,
I sit alone with the ghosts of estranged friends.
Those once-intertwined souls,
now frayed threads in the fabric of memory,
wander through the maze of my mind.
We danced on tightropes of youth,
clinging to dreams like desperate lovers,
fueling the fire of our shared rebellion.
But time, that merciless thief,
swept us apart like scattered ashes,
leaving only remnants of what once was.
The nights we swore would never end,
now fade into the sepia haze of nostalgia,
drowned in the bitterness of regret.
We buried our scars beneath the surface,
numbing our souls with liquid courage,
but the chasm widened, consuming us whole.
Now, the silence is deafening,
as I wander through the city’s empty streets,
haunted by the echoes of our estranged laughter.
How we were bound by a fragile thread,
weaving tales of love, loss, and madness,
each chapter etched upon our weathered faces.
But life’s bitter taste stained our lips,
and the distance between us grew insurmountable,
like a canyon carved by relentless time.
Estranged friends, once as close as blood,
now strangers in a crowded room,
adrift in the sea of our own disconnected worlds.
Yet, I still raise my glass to you,
to the moments we shared, however fleeting,
and to the bonds that time can never sever.
Ventimental 