His fingers folded paper,

hers held pens,

He was a good pretender,

she was, looking for friends,

They saw the same sunrises but never together,

He was a rock, she a feather,

But when they were,

It felt like holy blur,

In time they would be unbound by all but 2 cords,

In the end, they were just a stack of reports,

In the end, yes that’s the curious part of course,

In the bardos, intermission? Divorce

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