Over a barren creek in the center of a small valley
A fast, cold, wind rushing down the sides of the dead, brown, leaf covered hills
The hushed whisper of birds is too far to acknowledge
The sun is beginning to sleep
I am alone, surrounded by sleeping, naked trees
Black towers standing over the lonely woods
Watching me walk.
They creak and moan with the breath of winter
It is here I decide eternity shall exist
When memories fade and feelings are scrubbed and bleached and sacked and trimmed and drowned
When photos are burned and thrown to the worms and forgotten
When I wonder if heaven lets you bring your own baggage
It is in the cold, dark woods
Where a nearby tombstone sits marred and broken and unreadable
A pile of scrap metal rusts and sinks farther into the soft dirt
That I engrave our names into a tired, old tree.


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