There's a point where lines no longer cross...and perhaps never will again. Let bygones be bygones, you know? It all started on a leaves-littered pavement and it ended in the stifling heat of summer, on the same pavement. That was the point the lines crossed for the last time and then left for better things in the not-so distant future.
The journey beyond the crossing point was surreal - there was no direction or guidance. Not any more. And the prospect of moving away left a deep sense of loss. Eyes will no longer meet, paths will no longer cross, words will be left unheard and dead in the wake of the next autumn. But now on for more journeys beyond the crossing point, beyond autumn's anniversary and winter's cold - what's left is spring and summer. But who's to say it'll be like the last?
Those lines may no longer cross, but there will be more lines to come.
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