Future Grim

He still thinks of her
when the rain falls
in such a way.
When the wind
brushes his hair
over his cobalt eyes.
When the lonesome night air
fills lungs.

She still thinks of him
when the fire crackles
in a certain way.
When the waves wash
over her alabaster skin.
When the company she keeps
fail to hold her interest.

They both think
that it wasn’t meant to end.
At least,
not like this.


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