With paint covered fingers
The sky paints the sunset
Warming the souls
Of all who see it
I can see it within his steps,
And how they are no longer in rhythm with mine.
I can see it in the absence of his smiles,
That he is further away, that I can not see him anymore.
I can hear it in the sharpness of his tone,
The way it strikes into my bones.
I can feel it in his absence in the night,
For although he is near, I am still cold and wanting.
That there may yet be something lingering, between the silence and the sheets, but it is foreign, it is no longer love.
— The End —