Solemn days shifting, weaving, hushed as autumn, silent as thought. Dry leaves crackle through our rooted fingers, each a lifetime. Kaleidoscopic, like her.
Time heeds the twinkle in her eye, and raises a new morning to power our loving.
These days pass. Charlotte wears them all as rings on her fingers. She repeatedly refutes our surrender to Fate, until she finds a way to strengthen me.
Strengthened, I become bold. Still hand in hand, standing, living ghosts. Time emasculated, the future stillborn.
Together, we confront our cyclic fates. And though the deed is not yet done, we are already dead.