How it rings, repeated,

Through future days and weeks,

The subtle ripples of comfort, of confidence,

The ripples of a feminine voice meeting

The ripples of his.

History will never remember the deepest details

Of why we fight for life.

And if the words become a habit?

If what’s worth living for becomes

A dry tradition?

When neither really believes the

Fairy tale of their past?

When neither remembers what

Roads led to what worthwhile path?

Then what is worth holding onto?

And

Why?

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