Again

 We have been here before,

this place, 

this awful place, 

that we both loathe.

This path is worn smooth by 

our shuffling, 

dancing around one another.

We have said these words before,

these lines, 

an endless refrain, 

have evaporated off of our tongues 

until we are dry,

and still,

and we are not done with them yet.

We will be here again: 

this place, 

these words. 

Some days, I think 

we will never find new stories 

to tell one another. 

Some nights, I think, 

this is all we will ever know.