This well is a memory -
no, wait, scratch that, reverse it -
and it is as deep and dark
as sleep-ridden eyelids, driven
to the brink by a slurry of
mid-class bourbon and small talk.
It was worth it - captured in
the twinkle of fairy lights,
drawn on in scribbles by a long
exposure and the shake of a
deft hand - thank goodness.
Where are they now? Too many
sunsets have passed, too many
moments have gone unshared,
too much bourbon sitting corked
in the back of the fridge - someone
should drink it, but it wouldn't
be true justice to do it alone.
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