Suppossibly

And there’s a new word – ‘suppossibly’

There is, suppossibly, a purpose to all this.

In all our years of knowing each other, all the trials and tribulations;
with you writing mind-numbingly well and my grudging acquiescence
with my greenness, and the inherent pun
through all the love-hate, emotions bubbling
as undercurrents, yet in spate
We are, suppossibly, friends.

Everytime I think I have broken clear, new surreptitious connections are made in this increasingly tangled web. Not your fault, though it’s not like you would accept it if it was. Where will this end? Will you be the axeman for my third sacrifice?

We can never truly be friends – you resist too much, and I have grown to be indifferent. We can never be enemies – there is too much history, too much blood has flown from the altars of various relationships, at least for my part.

An inexplicable sadness envelops me, as a shadow does all our bonds. Sadness for the cruel twists that now see us straining at opposite ends of inextricable, sinewy strands. Or maybe it’s just me. Maybe this was doomed right from the start. Maybe our constitutions would never have permitted a true friendship – an acquaintance and feeble attempts at familiarity at best. How very sad.

It’s all, suppossibly, just chemical.