Love letter # 593

The story was intoxicating. The legend of us. The way we got together. Such a dream team. Damn that reality.

Now I am not sure I ever loved you, nor you me. Our darling was the romance; the fact and fiction of finding each other. For years, it was enough. Until it wasn’t.

In the waking presence, we wondered who we were. Together and individually. I suspect we are still awaiting satisfactory answers, even knowing they may never come.

Not that it matters – because now the distance is greater than the closeness ever was. The storybook lovers have inked the full stop. We walk in mindful absence tonight. Unscripted pilgrims.

And if we should meet again, tired of the alternatives, no longer sustained by the aridity of the ring-fenced self, let us take a blank sheet from the drawer. And leave it thus. Always potential. No official myths to fall short of.

Just us, and whatever happens next.





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