I felt it ending; it is as simple as that.
I will not fight it as I once did, not seeing
after last time what the point would be.
The pulling stays, despite my predictions
to others; nonchalantly knowing the fate
that waited what had become so important
to me. But again, the point seems to be
moving on, away, forward and past the rapids.
Getting to peace, settling down in the inbetweens.
Catching a breath before launching into a new
diatribe on life, love, philosophy, and the next
new and improved that's about to break your heart.
How forward of me, to think I know my assumptions
are right, and just above temptation, for me
not to rub it in your face. To sit quietly,
unstirred, despite my heart, and wait for the news.
Granted, not many will be surprised, seeing
more than I do, every other day. But,
they have not heard the silence the way I have.
The silk of what remains unsaid, sliding down
from your neck to the floor, unspoiled.
An avalanche of thoughts, whose impact changes things,
true, but not in a tangible way. Seen later, in hindsight
usually, with a glass of wine in front of the television
Or coffee at a dim-lighted diner, open twenty-four seven.
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