“Can we do this?”
she asks
playfully, with the tiniest glint of
sadness.
She knows.
She knows the truth.
That their hope is waning, melting
like a candle on a fortieth birthday cake.
So why pretend? She’s in love.
And so is he.
But not with her; never with her.
Only ever
with sadness.

“Can we do this? I don’t know.”
his response.
Blunt. Honest.
He wants to.
And that, if you are observant enough,
can see in his eyes.
She frowns. So obviously.

“Can we try?”
That’s exactly
exactly
exactly
what they’ve been doing
for months.

So he brings her in.
Close. He kisses her.
Gently. She replies.
In tears. He smiles.
Bravely. Hopelessly.
For the last time.
Hopelessly.