Sunday, 20 August 2017

Reverberate

Sometimes I drive by our old spot and wonder if the past is really truly in the past.

Whether there's an echo of us down there right now, your hands gripping mine as we walk our way through the tall grass.

A ghost with your face that flicks it's eyes and catches mine smiling and admiring you, your face grins, you laugh, and we forget all the tumult we've been going through.

I wonder if the mark we've made means anything at all, or if we may as well have never been, as if we were never here at all.


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