So this is it — a final, weighted glance,
Absorbing all the words we left unsaid.
And still, we play our parts, the practiced dance,
Goodbyes rehearsed with elegance and dread.
A pity, isn’t it — we lacked the nerve
To meet each other’s eyes and break the spell.
Our bitten lips, too proud to swerve,
Kept feeding love the lies that made it fell.
A pulse betrays itself along your brow.
You wait — in vain — for one last burning kiss.
Your gaze won’t leave the face before you now,
And truth stands bare, in all its quietness.
This moment — fragile, trembling on the edge —
We tear apart with phrases grown too thin.
To a composed and distant: “Take good care,”
You smile, and say: “Of course. I’ll call. Sure thing.”
Last Goodbye
© Copyright: Гемма, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125062301368
Свидетельство о публикации №125062301368
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