Adrift, Again.

“If you were to write our story, how would it end?”

The silence broke quietly,

As the question was posed again.

The months and years flashed by in a blink.

The promises pledged, the words spoken,

The moments spent, photographs taken.

The gentle words, the angry words,

The sleepless nights to make things work.

The intimate times that drew them close,

A fervent embrace, a kiss, and touch,

That only waking passion knows.

The genuine smiles, the laughter, and love,

Again, seemed predestined,

The second time around, from above.

A sigh escapes, deep from the heart,

Why did you have to make this so hard?

Three years on, the answer comes again,

“If I wrote our story, there would be no end.”