Slow ParadeMature

After all the wanting and grasping and despairing and clinging is over, things settle down. Time has a way of dragging all the small, creeping things out into the open where they cannot hide. Your insecurities and mine, huddled together on the floor and hissing at us. After the I Love Yous and the I Am Not Going Anywheres we are left with debris: pasts, neuroses. The way I count my steps going up and down stairs. Your love of cigarellos. We pick eachother apart, analyzing each irregular piece, muttering “fascinating” to ourselves. And after all that there is nothing left but a question and the question is this:

what now?

The End

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