I Walk the Streets Alone

I walk the streets alone.

I suppose I should be accustomed
to this lonely trek across
barren mountains,
distant seas.
I suppose I should be accustomed
to making this odyssey
without your hand in mine,
your soft whispers tickling my ear.

But if I linger for a moment too long
before a glass door,
then I am not alone;
if I stare for a moment too long
into a dirt-speckled puddle,
then I am not alone.

Because now we’re young again,
with our heads tilted towards one another,
pools of stars captured within our eyes.
Because now we’re young again,
with our interlocked fingers forging a connection
that will weather the sands of time
for all eternity.
Because now we’re young again,
with you whispering promises of
something sweeter than the raindrops on my lips,
something purer than the breath of cold, winter air upon my skin,
something better than the love we have now.

But then
the door creaks open,
the puddle is shattered by a careless footstep.
The dream ends and…

I walk the streets alone.

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