it’ll happen
like it always does
like the hollow shine
in the frightened eyes
of the ragged and frayed
the silent moments
will become hours and days
the days will become weeks
the weeks, months
and one day
years from now
decades, perhaps
we’ll be living life
as much as life
ever lets us
live
and then something
will return
the memory
like a cursed gift
we’ll remember
that we’d once
loved someone
more than
we’d loved
ourselves
and a wind
will blow over
the dust of our years
a wicked, whistling breeze
that only we two
can hear
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