A picture so grey, on broken paper it remains
it conjures up a time that held importance
but only in the back of my mind
time turned its wheels and let it drown away
let it lay on the tip of the iceberg
now all I can see is a blinking light in my mind, still grey
trying to colour it, but it delays
in my mind, it delays and fades and rots and burns and turns
in my heart, it stays and a face and a fragrance and a smile

Her lips seem close yet so far, a distant sound that is forgotten
like the ambience of what surrounds
all I hear from this image is stories with only ends
told by what came after it was clicked
no beginnings, no middle but only the end
a laugh, a whisper, the secret it whimpers but
I turn it around and the blotch on it murmurs
“We will return here on the same day 10 years from now
Our hands may still be intertwined till the sun won’t shine”
Only I who sits here, a chance that pushed me here
10 years from then, the sun still shines but with
a face that is replaced, the hands intertwined remains the same.

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