always “too soon” ?

That portrait of her

he is staring at,

just staring

Into the past 

he is dwelling

Lights up his face

he is smiling

The smell of her hair

is still lingering

Inside his head

their love affair so vivid

Slowly

a cold touch

he is feeling

His hands

she is holding

He senses

her grip tightening

And it isn’t fear 

he is beholding

But with disdain

and his heart sinking

Arises the smoke and scent

of something burning
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Don’t you think it’s been long enough?”, he said

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

That portrait of her

now its burning

He lit the fire

it’s slowly growing

He knows the notion

of what he’s losing

The grip on his hand

gently fading

With a silent cry

he is mourning

He hopes their story

has reached its ending

With his back turned

he starts moving

he is moving

just moving on…

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