Without Photographs

Waiting on Myself.

Shared by Nathan Lindsay

There were never pictures of “us”.

I’ve known couples in love.

I’ve read about them

…envied them without mercy.

Portraits of tenderness

trapped in observed time.

After the last kiss is dismissed

the frames are all that remain,

as if struggling for breath…

A mark that some face of love

existed, yet there is no character

of us…only a fiction…

existing somewhere between

the aurora of limitless sight…

and the gentle dusk

of a beaten heart.

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