2, And then we weren’t forever…

On the bare walls
of our old apartment,
memories are playing
like reels on repeat,
showcasing dances of
first every things
overlapping with what
would become our lasts;
cries are no longer
the sound of the room,
instead replaced with
our song, that I can’t
bring myself to listen
to, playing on mute –
pleading with me to
simply ask of you,
if you even struggle
half as much as I do?

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One comment

  1. dtdeedge · July 13, 2015

    I would imagine the struggle is mutual,
    Though of a flavor entirely distinct.

    Like

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