tracing the trails of long melted glaciers

when she closes her eyes
he is the only thing
that ceases to exist
a case of reverse solipsism
a half life of
unreturned devotionals
in a mute world where
nothing truly matters

a dry riverbed
where the cyclical flow
no longer feeds the source
leaving a jagged scar
to cut across a land
of formerly bountiful returns
in a trickle of brackish
dreamthistle decay

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