by Ben Macnair
It was not the sonic boom of bereavement,
It was the slow fade of twilight into old age.
It wasn’t the sonic boom of betrayal
It was the slow fade of twilight into indifference.
It was not the sonic boom of a dying sun
It was the slow fade of a nebulae.
It was the not the water, or time that put out the fire,
It was the falling marshmallow that we cooked over it.
It was not the sonic boom of goodbye,
It was the realisation that you loved him more.
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