stutterstep; the end

as the one who remained behind,
i feel the urge
to pen some remembrance
of our story.
this latent desire for memory,
a lingering stoicism
unwilling to accept defeat
like some misplaced sense of civic duty
imparted on the last remnants
of a dying civilization.

there is even,
in this twist of fate,
this symbolic reversal of roles,
some innate sense of finality-


as once our story thrived in the brilliance of your words,
so now it dies in the paltry shadow of mine.