where she writes

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Drift

“If you were to write our story,

how would you end it?” 

She met his eyes, the briefest of seconds.

How did it feel to close the book?

Please, count the ways.

What was it like to take that walk?

Tell me.


Because how it felt to watch,

Was a piece of her falling, aimless, 

Thru the oblivion.

How the gaping distance reached,

Seemed like an endless cavern.

How the resounding echo sounded,

Of retreating footsteps,

Like the wind quickly flowing farther in between.


But don’t call it drifting, like it’s nature to do so.

Don’t say inevitable, because distance made it so.

For those who hold you close to heart won’t allow the drift.

Those who matter won’t let the boat sink.


How did it feel for the air to turn cold,

And for the fog to creep in?

We dare, and count the ways.


She met his eyes, the briefest of seconds.

“I wouldn’t,” she said. 

How does it feel? To feel that goodbye.