Torn

It was just a simple scrap of paper
torn from your journal–
a random scrap of paper
upon which I signed my name.

I’m glad it existed
in our time and in this place.

We were lesser gods
disguised in humility
in which we couldn’t hope
to hide.

We were gods
unto ourselves.

We were avatars
of our true selves.

I talked you into battle.
You tried talking me into peace.
I talked you into freedom.
I begged you.
I begged you,

“Please.”

On this random sheet of paper
torn from the beach
of fantasies
and dreams.

In this glut of my emotions–
this excerpt of me
ripped from this heart
from which desires bleed.
It beats to the rhythm
of my dreams.

I’m glad it existed
in our time,
in this place.

Into the wind,
these pages torn.
At our feet,
this journal worn.
Still, I’m glad.

I’m glad we existed.

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