[448] The End of Our Beginning

The birth of the world ⁣
and its dying echo⁣
can be heard in a shell⁣
Like that, I try to find ⁣
the beginning of our end⁣
in the silence you left behind

I lied when I told you⁣
the first time we talked⁣
was the first time we met⁣
when I saw you every day ⁣
sipping your morning cup ⁣
through the cafe window that came⁣
on my way to work⁣

I dreamt daily but even⁣
dreams couldn’t hold ⁣
the power to capture you⁣
And my memory couldn’t
remember your face⁣
You were unreal like dreams

Whenever I walked past the cafe⁣
my head turned to remember you
till it recognised that it ⁣
lacked the power to hold it⁣
But one day when you weren’t there ⁣
The window was devoid of even forgetting

The history of our love began⁣
the day I couldn’t see you⁣
It was the first day we met ⁣
Does it even matter though?⁣
To look back at the dying ⁣
beating of our heart⁣

What use are the memories⁣
of trying to remember you⁣
when I need to forget you now⁣
My habit of turning my head when I⁣
pass the coffee shop window still endures⁣
only to find you not sitting there⁣
only to end up hearing the echo of our end

NaPoWriMo Day 29: And now, for our prompt (optional, as always). This one is called “in the window.” Imagine a window looking into a place or onto a particular scene. It could be your childhood neighbor’s workshop, or a window looking into an alien spaceship. Maybe a window looking into a witch’s gingerbread cottage, or Lord Nelson’s cabin aboard the H.M.S. Victory. What do you see? What’s going on?

A bit long but I hope it’s worth reading since it’s narrated in the form of a story.

Painting by Edward Hopper.

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