How many years has it been now? Filing cabinets full of minutes/hours/days. A lifetime outlined in manila folder. Five times now, it says in your record, but where are the receipts? Who falls in love and doesn’t get a receipt? You can write it off and claim it as a loss at the very least.
It has been seven years since anything happened, another thirteen since anything made sense. The numbers don’t add up. Where did the years go? Each of their folder slim as if they were never there at all. Placeholders of a life lived in hole-punched margins.