And then I realised we are stuck in a never ending cycle of chasmic infatuation and bitter, cold impassivity.
There are fragments of love floating in between, ashes in the wind, gone by before you could get a real glimpse.
Shards of hate scrape over our skin, when we are too caught up inside our own heads.
Scenic valleys pass by so fast than those frozen hill tops.
One moment I see ourselves in paradise, waterfall cascading down in front and the next I find us on the steps of purgatory, our entwined fingers losing grasp and drifting away.
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