The picture is already painted inside my head.
You stand there, shoulders curved towards my own- eyes tracing shoulders smaller than your own.
I stand near, but do not reciprocate. Eyes turned slightly downcast- lips framed ever so downwards.
We do not speak yet minutes still pass us by.
When your mouth opens, a breath slides out with an entrance.
You’re tired, you say.
But, I’m exhausted, I reply.
The hands change from 3 to 5. Yet there’s still little progression in our lives.
I do not have any more words left to craft- do not have any truths left to speak. But do you? What do you have to bring me?
An open casket of mixed greens and cauliflowers. But which is yellow, and which is green? Can you even differentiate the strands apart?
I know what it is that has to be done. But, giving is so hard no matter how little.
If it was indeed love like you proclaimed, then will it be the same love that saves us?
I feel that this will be our last.
“Oh, you know what to do.”