Murder, he scrawled
It felt good
To be same same
But somewhat different
She kicked leaves
And wondered
Why her thoughts
Were so dark
Her imagination took her
To stories
That were neither just
Nor pleasant
He liked the colour
Black
It put him at ease
It helped him relax

Their lives lay lost
Waiting to be found
Waiting to embrace
Each others solitude
Even if they didn’t know it
Yet

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