As days roll over what lies between us continues to grow.
Once interwoven lovers become close strangers.
Schedules that once held greetings turn into quick glances and routine check-ups.
These weeds are blocking our gaze. What is a gardener to do?
Struck between paths, do they follow or pace in circles condemning memories?
Space will erode what was there.
These cliffs will fall into a lovely sea.
Crash and sprinkle they may, until a ship returns, to the forgotten bay.
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