In a dream,
there are two,
walking through the woods,
hand in hand,
awkward silence.
Everything was perfect,
or so it seemed.
Then one fell,
hitting hard.
The other thought,
just a moment ago
everything was perfect,
or so it seemed.
After the death,
after the mourning,
the lonely one thought,
it all would've been perfect,
or so it seemed.
 
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