They keep warning:
Love is CYANIDE.
It is lethal.

I keep cajoling:
It is OXYGEN.
The lack of it is.

‘Well, it was indeed
a very long association,
thank you!
But it needs to end.
I will have to usher you out
to welcome my new friend.
Her name is ‘morning’.
So goodbye, darling!”

From a weary, but determined Me
to the long, dark, night that refused to end.

You were a
passing cloud.
I was the Sun.
You left.
I stayed.
But you colored my skies.

I

LOST

MY

MIND.

AND

FOUND

MY

HEART.

The irony of her life was that
His memories were all she had, to live.
But each time she replayed them
It took the life out of her.