The Constant

“I write because you exist.” – Michael Faudet

I’d always imagined what I would have done if you had changed your mind. An indecision made in haste, a miscalculated conclusion. I imagined what I would do if you had come back, a litany of apologies spilling relentlessly from your lips. I imagined it would be like sand in my palms, quickly falling through the spaces of my fingers. I’d forget all your flaws and faults in a heartbeat. I loved you with a tiring persistence. And I chose you everyday. It was like a mechanical fountain, a metronome. My love for you was as constant as these. Predictable, monotonous. Dulled by other things in life, but it was a distinct sound when things would fall silent. 


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