Few Are Left To Remember

I see a twilight in your eyes. Where the heart’s flame subsides and seeks the spark of a distant fire, or perhaps the wick just burns short in this long hour.

The sky once exploded like daylight, on those darkest of nights, illuminated by the blinding hue of fevered passion, forged from molten desire. Now, we sit in silence. Pale figures in the dusk of complacency and unintended neglect.

Our will is no longer enough to fan this dwindling ember.

This ache I feel informs me of the once was, a hole carved over time from the rush of torrential current, now dry river bed. A testament to a past that few are left to remember.

When I feel, joy is muted, yet so is sorrow. As if my heart is at a distance, relaying emotion through fog or cold rain. I see the puddles mirrored in your eyes. If I could feel empathy, I’m sure I would. Yet all I feel is weary, numb.

We promised to never let go.

Promises are for the young.

13 thoughts on “Few Are Left To Remember

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