It's a fable now,
of a forgotten town. 

Whispering goodbye
to every belligerent blue 
that must have wasted you.
Two was too many yet 
twenty was already plenty.
When had we subscribed to 
the idea that love was a construct
only to be destroyed by
the vices we employed?
I feel like a child, innocent and praying to God in a church pew as if He could
stop and rewind to that one time 
our fingers intertwined
and I felt truly fine.

It's all a fable now,
of a forgotten town. 

Sawyer S.