Viae Separatae

What now, my love? Was that the end of us? I can’t make it real. We were so near - breath-close, bone-close. Is there any sense in learning "why"? Or is it simply part of being? We are wanderers who meet - then, after time, we take our separate roads. What now, my love - what now? Was that the end for us? I can't believe it, not the way it fell. Is there any point in asking "why"? Or is it simply part of being - We are wanderers who meet - then, after time, we take our separate roads. What now… What now? What now, my love - what now? Was that the end for us? I can't believe it, not the way it fell - we were so close: close as breath, close as bones, two sparks trapped in the same black bell. Your name still rings in the metal of my teeth, a soft bruise under all this noise. I walk through rooms that keep your shape, and every light is a broken choice. If I reach, I touch the after-image, if I speak, I taste the rust. Tell me - was it mercy, was it damage, was it love that turned to dust? We don't die - we disassemble, bolt by bolt, into the night. We were a cathedral of small forgiven things, now we're scaffolds in a floodlight. Say my name through the distortion, let it burn, let it be bright. We don't end - we just go silent in the moment before the fight. What now, my love? Is there any point in asking "why"? Or is it simply part of being - the way the iron learns to cool, the way the wound keeps meaning? We are wanderers who meet - in passing storms, in borrowed heat - and after a while we go our separate ways, two shadows folding off the street. I wanted proof, a clean equation, a verdict carved in therapy-light, but every answer slips the cage and laughs in ultraviolet. So I keep the questions moving like machines that cannot sleep - and you keep living somewhere else, a city inside me, deep. We don't die - we disassemble… What now?