Continued

Things work out one way or the other; you win or you lose.
And you can't win all the time, you just have to face it.

So here's the poem I promised you:

Since you parked on that corner,
No one has dared
Touch that spot.
It was where you held my hand,
And time seemed to
Stop
While the rain continued
To fall.
3 A.M., and the thunderstorms
Start, not unlike
The night you dropped me off,
Echoing
Echoing
Echoing
The threatening raindrops.
On my bed that sweater
Patiently waited, listened to the old clock's tales.
The article of clothing
Was once a
New gift,
But its fibers
No longer hold your smell,
Instead contain tears
Drying from my tired face
Only to be replenished soon after.
You say
"Don't cry my girl,
I'll be home soon."
But it all seems to be
A misunderstanding.
Your absence,
Their absence,
My absence.

Just because the road looks long doesn't mean there's not an end.