I think we need to talk about who we really are.
About way we sit in silence as we travel in this car.
I think it�s time to sit down for the hundredth bloody time.
Burst a few pink bubbles, fetch a shovel and some lime.
For there are many dead things stinking out this place.
Things that we should bury and things that we should face.
I don�t think that I love you...
and that�s so hard to say.
I know you�ve seen this coming and have avoided this day.
Still I think that we should talk before one of us dies.
Before we start to hate each other, before we both start telling lies.
Much damage has been done and I don�t think we can mend.
As it�s been such a long time since I saw you as a friend.
We live in different worlds, see things so differently.
You see a dreamy drifter; I feel you suffocating me.
So much has been taken for granted and no feelings thought about.
So I think we need to talk, finally sort this relationship out.
Annette Phillips 2001
There's no place like home - Poetry
