it is 3AM and the sounds of eveningMature

It is 3AM and the sounds of evening
have faded into the muted notes of the morningtide
and everything is far away and tired.  I have been
thinking of you too often these past few days -
weeks, months, years -
the memories are dank caverns of loss and there are riptides
where scars used to mar the earth of our growing,
changing, expanding, imploding, churning love,
and it has all been buried beneath the volcanic eruptions
of our inevitable ending.
Your kisses tasted like sulfur
and when the lava tried to swallow me, 
I let it catch me on fire and when all the moisture
in my body dissipated, I let the flames turn me to ash
because nothing would ever be the same.

I could never be the same, again.  

The End

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