a story in sixteen lines

Night with the masks on
As we said good bye
You stepped out of fiction
And that made me sigh.

Dark clouds, no thunder
Trees devoid of their leaves
Poetry- the tip of our tongues
Short stories they weave.

Stories that we weaved
Are now at our feet
And we’re walking over
Trying to escape the heat.

It’s the night with our masks on
And we are saying good bye
You stepped out of fiction
And I never asked why.

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