Left, the direction leading to disaster

You won't be there. When there are times that I need attention or merely a hug. You won't be there, how sad is that, when there is only tears covering my window and no one is there to dry them. You were jet black and I was snow dry. Puffy and fluffy and weak for you to remember me by. The grass was shivering with the thought of Autumn arriving and the sun couldn't wait to set high. Months were awaiting to pass us by and time hasn't managed the time. You are seriously here in front of me and my eyes are running dry. Nothing left to say, not even a simple 'hi'. The exhilaration has escaped from its threshold and now the clothes aren't even scattered over the floorboards anymore. Black silk on light wood. Cushioning my fall with your black kitchenette. Not black enough yet not too white, shades of gray filling it in but just too fast to escape the eye. Nervous to out my feelings, scared not to say a thing, wondering why your side is quiet and still. The birds have stopped their morning whistle and flirt, clouds have stopped moving past the horizon. As I pluck the cats hairs off my black winter coat - Winter? but it was only Fall - and flicker them in midair. straightening myself like an iron gliding its way through a formal, white blouse. Cannot tell you about my thoughts, for I have chosen to keep them to myself from now on then. And so the blankets fell off the bedside and slid onto the cold ground, shifting with its own weight. Leaving us bare. Nude. Exposed and fragile. Which we were to begin with, the end already spelled out for us. Which has now arrived. Go on. Continue.