Not change they needed, but [es][cape]

She stood aghast at everything she’d constructed;

everything she’d attempted to see.

In truth all she had

was a rather bad tad of a luxurious feeling

of excess.

And all she now desired was simply to be in the arms

of the lover she had fallen

in love with.

And it really seemed trite, as simple pleasures 

often might: but she 

didn’t care what they’d be thinking.

All she could sense was the sadness of

badness entire: the loneliness of being lonely 

lying next to another, who’d

turned into a stranger 

in the last curious years.

And yet if you’d asked him why suddenly, quite 

damningly it had happened, why he’d forgotten exactly how 

to love her, 

he would probably reply, this weirdly and

openly, that when he’d loved her as

she had assumed,

actually no physics had transformed at all.

And the thermodynamics of

a love such as this

were probably as remiss as her own inability 

to make up her lie:

they’d never truly loved each other, you see;

always a convenience 

of wry.

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