The sun is setting again, golden. Another day of attempts. To get closer, to secretly squeeze more out of the minutes without being noticed. Because none of us can admit that we are running out of time. We wish we would have gotten here earlier. But we could not. We were not. And this is how it is, now.

I ask why you chose me last and you begin to cry. Do you cry because you found my assumption cruel, or because you realize that it is true?

All these years behind us of words never spoken and assumptions made in their place. The silence has taken so much. But you were supposed to teach me how to talk.

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Stillness in Storm

Stillness in Storm