Points of Time

Years before, or years after. "Us" could've worked differently.
Against a navy background. Against broken glass. Under layers of disappointments and above all else. Time passes heavily yet swiftly, it could've been us. But you're you and I, I. Tinder, forgotten rough around all edges except for the one you lay so close to. It's not even a memory, but a meaning latching on the under-surface of my brain.

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