Back when, in one breath, our heartbeats

Synchronised, like keeping still, refrained;

Like waiting through the worst of the rain,

Small, soulful touches meant we were soulmates.

A hand on mine, keeping it pinned

As both gesture and possession,

A memory in its place; one touch of heaven.

That is what has gone. And now, I see,

We allow each other to live the same life

In different rooms. And I will, if given

One half a chance, place that very

Same old hand of mine upon your knee

And you will look me lovingly in the eye

And say, so tenderly: “Not now, baby.”


I am glad to say that this feeling of distance i not something from which I am currently suffering. It is, however, no stranger to me. It happens by accident: by time, by insidious inaction. It happens to us all. The love needn’t go, for that touch of heaven to pass. 


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