Clear, but without anything personal, except attachment.
A remembrance is lacking a simple disdain, and discarded, yet still resplendent.
There’s little cause to be excited, and even less for enthusiasm, but bitter.
Quietness isn’t left untouched, yet yearning, and willing to be somewhere,
but there’s little hope for that where to be anything, and less to give back,
even with the slightest touch of goodness.
Warnings and milestones became both the same, and within it, we found
more of a purpose.