Boy. Girl. Love, or what was closest to it.
A sudden end dragged over a year, a living death of two.
The train comes. She leaves. He stays.
But the next day comes, and its feelings with it. The next day comes, and a memory of them doesn’t.
You are dead, she says, but she does not see it.
You are gone, she says, but she does not feel it.
Here lies a living death of two. The price of love too burdensome to bear alone.
To rest in peace would be a mockery of how they felt alive, with such passion, uncertainty, and naivety.
There was no peace in this ending or would be in the one beyond it.
Boy. Girl. Love, or what was nothing like it.
A Series of Observations 