There is a reason:
Why you loved me.
Why you were bored.
Why you changed.
Why you left.

But the reason?
You don't want to talk
Neither do I.
Whatever.

The reason was made in silence.

Is there no way
To spell it out-
The reason, I mean . . .

Love breaks.
Friendship ends.
Anger spreads.
Guilt bothers.

But no one shouts it out:

That tiny delicate reason
We will never learn.

© Sotera Catayas

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