After all the love and affection, after all the close space, filled up with bones and the flesh of the one who could make sense and happiness in such world that you were to live in. From behind that warm, conforting season, which both of us thought would just have to go on until the very end;
(Well, it had indeed come to the very end. It's own very one.)
The cold weaving of a sad goodbye, like a train, heading fast and painfully towards wherever it is that you cannot reach. The sad farewell that was to bring nights of freezing thoughts, and days with only darkened skies, where the clouds would only whimper for this lost love.
A farewell that I heard of, I wonder how it should be.
A farewell, but a diferent one.
After what one could call the only thing there was to be, something that could take you inside your desires, someone that could make sense and joy out of what should only be dark and rotten, old scattered bones of one's self.
That what could be told as what had to last until the very end, should naturally finish it's last line.
Finish what it had been already promised, settle a wish that had been accepted.
Finish it all with a farewell of endless days, where there was only to be seen all that was there to be, swiftly dissolving into the days of goodbye. Gently, even kindly, dissapearing into the winds of the time where the sun would draw it's arc in the sky, so that each and every part of what one had loved the most, would be missed with all that one could miss.
So that each and every smiling fragrance of this dying love would leave it's unpreceeded and unvanishing mark.
Until the day in which there was nothing more of it to be seen,
as if there wasn't any such love from the beggining, as if it had simply never happened.
A farewell. A farewell that I know of.
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