Not even a word

unglamorous , 13 oct 2026 5:24:47.

A tale almost lived,

Now lies in ruins,

Before the prose

Of a love that never was.

There must be

A love for me,

But not a word,

Not even “ciao”—

Bravo!

Here I stand,

Lost in thought,

Imagining

A wordless talk.

Now I dramatize

What never came to be;

Shakespeare would envy

This tragedy of me.

Thoughts

The scent of ciao
The salt that consumes iron
Do you know your last line before you start, or does it find you?
Do you write the ending first, or let it show up on its own? Tell me how you know a last line is the right one.

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A tale almost lived,