22nd December 2018

She wants to freeze time.
Ask fate to be kind
and grant more moments
for them to just sit together.

Hypothetical torture:
questions of, “if in the past she’d done this” butcher
her thoughts. Blame is dry sand –
tangible, but impossible to hand.

Tears replace faith and prayers.
For now, she likes to touch his hair
and compare how his colour is diluted in her.
Their skin is watercolours.
Their lives transient paintings on the canvas of a broken earth.

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