just when i flee from the dark
banishing me back home
you’re nocturnal;
3am is when you roam
just when i enter the east gate
blinded by the orange sunrise
you exit the west door
chasing the crimson skies
just when my footsteps stop,
our past closed with suture
you start to wonder
the permutations of our future
just when you imagine that we
could have been “meant to be”
i have conceded ever since
that we are meant to be “could have been”
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