#53

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if I ever get
the chance
to change
one thing
about that
night, it
would be the
way my heels
hit the wooden
floor in the
most hideous
clacking, as I
made my way
out of the door.
for darling, now
I'm afraid that
my footfalls are
your most vivid
memory of me.
because in my
sleep I don't
remember the
evenings we
spent collecting
metaphors from
old poems, nor
how your Adam's
apple popped
in and out,
swallowing the
words my eyes
begged you to
utter, the words
that could have
for sure changed
everything.
but what haunts
me at midnight
is your fingertips
tapping on the
kitchen table,
echoeing my
steps.
and I wonder
where did we
go wrong?
have we slipped
out of love's
embrace? Or
did we read too
many books to
know the right
path of loving
a person?
maybe we were
never meant to
be, for we were
two lost pieces
of the same
broken dream
that was never
supposed to come
true .

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