“I want,” he says, “to leave behind these half-lit corridors,
the muted colours and rustling whispers,
quiet embraces after lights are out,
the ashes of roses, and faded greys.”

“I want to shrug off these threadbare emotions
We’ve worn far too long to excite.
This gold band has become thin and loose,” he says
“with the passing of the years.”

“Instead, give me neon and music,
the whirling dizziness of carousels;
let me taste the spices of life eaten raw,
and hear wild, young laughter in my ears.”

She watches him leave, reflecting how
shadows pool in his wrinkles.
Then, she lights a hundred candles
And glories in the blaze.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.