Eventually, we’ll withdraw from

each other,

distance will drive a ridge

between us and no amount of

bridges can bring back what’s lost,

for what’s lost remains lost,

the traces of our presence will


there will be faint reminders when

we walk past the coffee shops we’ve

been to

or the places we’ve watched distasteful

movies at,

the aroma of freshly-baked bread or morning coffee

will be replaced with pungent odours of

sulphur and past,

and eventually, someday, we’ll lose

each other,

we’ll drift apart,

just like the clouds do before

a clear sky.