The wintry pats of your palms upon my hands grew a fading longing between the splintered bones of my lungs. After the thousand lapses of my visions with you in each millisecond, I aged with weariness of your face and my desperation. I held the last strings of fiction we had before I cut the thick ropes.
It was nice seeing you again—this time, to seal the deal of wrapping my already bruised heart with a soft cloth only for my veins to feel. Tomorrow, I would stand as tall as the dancing trees near my home; I would become the oak I forgot.
When tears spilled to your cheeks, I only felt the spark of hope for you—you would heal your regrets by your own head. I bid my farewell to you and it seemed as if you were only realizing the revelation I had within me, a few years back.
We were just two close strangers who never became humans.
WORD COUNT: 164
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