Unfinished Conversations

It’s late at night,

On the final day,

Of January,

Which already seemed like a year.

We have sneaked,

Out on the terrace,

With our jackets,

And a cup of chai,

Staring at the moon,

Setting over the hill.

When you tell me,

My vice,

Holding on.

But, tell me,

How do I let go,

Of conversations,

You’ve left unfinished,

Asking me to wait,

As you find the right words,

To break my heart.

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