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Like eyes heavy with
grief, grey clouds spill a steady
patter of sorrow.
Pulling apart a
life together, the future
frays like a cut edge.
It happens over
coffee, one stunned, the other
already elsewhere.
She woke up seeing
him in a different light
flame sputtering out.
“There’s always rain at
the most appropriate times
in my life,” he wrote.
Tightly furled like clenched
fists, tentative red-tipped buds
sway on bare branches.
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