You waved a degree well above her yard-stick, knowing how to connect dots sans yellow number two, as if you'd channeled her thoughts without thieving or scheming, where a bittersweet victory ensued. You were here--just one last hurrah. A clock ticked toward the final minutes of shared injuries as she quietly lead you back to task. Fingers crossed she made room in a heart because you tell yourself you don't need to know but you do until you don't. Accessorized with a bent halo, you walk in step with her towards the real world where she let you go with a squeeze, a wet streak on your face between eyelash and breath where salt snuck in a cameo and sadness paved its way through cheekiness, where a door gently closed yet remained ajar.
