became chords in songs we never sang and
all our hopes turned into snapped strings."
she said "let me take my mirror and my books
for all our broken hearts will surely be stories
and all these stories will leave my eyes a blurry, runny
tragedy."
so what else could i do?
i said "i'll see what i can do."
and we went.
on the drive, we listened to hymns that strummed, strummed
our heart-strings and we read each other verse
that struck our heart(s) of hearts with a canonical
ice-pick.
left behind were past flames (now dead or dying), families, winter-time,
autumn, autumn colors, the twin cities, and people we never really cared
to speak to again anyway.
we arrived and settled in.
and we are there to this very day.
maybe.
