I knew you and I
were not meant to be.
I even wrote it in my diary:
“one day she’ll marry someone else
but I hope I can be there”.
I didn’t believe it at first, of course:
that’s what our love was.
I don’t know where the decades went
but this is where they end:
in a churchyard somewhere
with rice thrown by others.
And this is where I end: outrun,
haunted by a version of us
we willed into existence briefly.
What is love if not regret?

Part of #escapril2021. Photo by Christopher Campbell.

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