Our Days were Numbered

Our days were numbered from the beginning.

Half mast lies, petty jealousies

Soul of fire, soul of ice.

The ‘lie’ I told,

A truth you didn’t ask for.

 

I would say that I’m not the only one

Who hide secrets in the shadows,

 

Yet

 

I am holding on to the possible truth

Typed out in black and white.

 

You are a ghost haunting me in the locations

Of where the argument started,

Where the cold came in,

The last we spoke,

When you had let me in.

 

A full calendar has spun.

I still miss you.

 

K. Thwaites

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