He wanted to play, a game long famed from my own design. I wanted to play, a heart that would yield to rules not yet made. 

There he stood on those sidelines, beckoning me to return to the same crescent that found me at twenty-one. Instead I broke away and cried out to the storms of my own fabrication. 

I bet this one’s for you; the way I used to dream of your pretty blues, and the way you used to call me up in a drunken mellow in the middle of the night. Those were the days, all withered away in the rose-coloured shard that I salvaged from the mess we made. 

Fossilized in my hand is our last memory – I asked for forgiveness, and he returned with a permanent goodbye. 

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