Words

fall from

our mouths

like

a stream

of

nonsense,

carrying

pride

down the

twists

and turns

of

a

river,

like small

pebbles

that

loosened

from the

back

of our

throats

that

were dragged

out

by the

sheer

want

to be

right.

I’ve always

wanted

to be

right,

because

for the

longest

time

I’ve felt

everything

was

wrong,

but

if being

right

means

I’ll feel

as if

a drought

has withered

our

friendship,

I never

want

to be

right

again.