I’d like to think that this ends
much like a dying star.
That it burns and boils with fury and passion
until one day it implodes into itself,
in a beautiful spectacle of cosmic mourning.

But there’s a feeling in my soul
a quiet, dreadful haunting
that this dies uneventfully.
Like the anticlimactic withering of the last flowers before the frost.
That one day
we just realize it’s been awhile,
but neither one of us really has anything to say.
And the final petals fall
without anyone really noticing
at all.