Our fates was not written with a happy ending.
A pair of star-crossed lovers who
mirrored each other, twin flames –
toxic, dysfunctional;
we rode a carousel endlessly, going round
and round and round.

But we didn’t care, we were intoxicated
and deliriously infatuated,
thinking it was true love;
thinking it was destiny at work;
thinking it was forever.

Until the disenchantment set in
and the world started spiraling out of control.
And there was no way for us to hold it together
even when we held it close to our hearts,
embracing it tightly, hoping to make it whole again
with whispers of I love you,
with tears, with caresses, and
the heat of your skin against mine,
calling out baby, over and over.

But our world was bound to spiral and end
no matter how hard we tried –
both in our dreaming and our waking.

And so we sat on the concrete park bench
under the rain – soaked and shivering,
holding hands,
our palms kissing instead of our lips
that spoke countless words other than goodbye;
delaying the hours, wishing the minutes were longer,
knowing we were holding hands for the last time.

Perhaps that’s why God made flowers
so beautiful, because endings
are just so heartbreakingly painful.