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8h · 26
how did it end?
i have this sixth sense - knowing how things end before they even begin.
those anticipatory smooches, and nothing more.

i could tell you how the sun and moon can never coexist, but i'd bore you.
maybe, in your imagination, they do.

i could tell you how they were not meant for each other, but i'd break you.
maybe, in your secret confession, they really are.

but dreams always turn to dust, and i'm the one left biting the lust.
i could make a list of how you struck the match with your scheming tongue, just so i'd be the one left putting out the fire alone.

maybe one day, i'll get used to it.  
is it something i should get used to?
heard she met a boy with eyes determined like a man.
messy quiff hair, warm fuzzy feelings like a snuggly bear.
soft like her lips, hard like his will.
twin water signs, as if stars aligned.

heard he read her off like an open book,
along the line, somewhere between the lines,
he always knows where she places a piece of herself,
every nook and cranny, familiar traces like the back of her hand.

now there they go,
the faith she would carry and the book he would marry,
becomes the last greatest tale that is now theirs,
to write and tell,

and for me to read.
1d · 95
what goes, comes
squandered away what starts a man’s life:
dime
wine
time

if only for a better cause
is there anything to lose
really?

looking back at what ends a man’s life:
time
wine
dime

it gets better and better
till there is nothing else left to matter
it’s true.

— The End —