For the song of the deadly couldn't have you called
the space kept warm for your return
the faded fragrance of that handmade soap left on the table
replaced by a shorter span of sizzled onions
as they filled and travelled -
an illusion
the juxtaposed reality is that our coexistence collide
only in certain circumstances
and that we will never cross the path with a specific intention
I am capable to put up a mock run
to have you loved with open arms
for the sake of reinforcement
a mechanism to immunity
when it could be much convenient
to see you rise and fall, predictably
I can sit here all day
to run my desired reality
and the void
in parallel planes
as I witness the heart wither
it shall take the cycle of course
until one day, when we decide to evolve
