We pulled into a bank of fog
and sat there
staring out
staring at whatever world
we thought we wanted
staring at the infinite possibilities
dried up now
in the bucket seat between you and me
Maybe I'm nostalgic
or pathetic
or a harmonious composition of the two
tragic
because the story will end with my death
even if we had gotten hitched
the story will end
and the fog we never braved
will linger there
forcing fancy
onto what might have been
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