circling each other in their descent.
Once, you were the love of my life.
But alas, with time and circumstance,
we have grown apart.
The mechanisms of love are transient.
You will find with any idol, a discarded worshiper,
as with any Cassiopeia, a throne.
Our kind of de facto rapture was common,
it's loss fought kindly; with bouts of alcohol,
trips to the gym, bitter collusion with friends,
and pale repetitions of colloquialism,
“more fish in the dark wide ocean.”
I will always love you in friendship.
With regards,
Mary.
Found amid the wreckage of World War II.
Subject and object are dead.
That's all she wrote.
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