What is left behind once the flames of a sudden love dies down?
Will all the exchanged smiles, laughter and sighs fly away to find another unsuspected host?
or will they be petrified into bricks of coal,
keeping the visual remembrance of what one day lit the skies?
Will the charcoal turn into pencils giving wings to another artist demonstrating his own agony,
Staining his fingers, bruising the canvas, making love anew?
What will be left of us?
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