Remnants [Fiction 55]

I bump into you again—

Remnants of what remain

Are scattered, haphazardly

On the ground, on you and me.

Nobody picks them; they lie

There transfixed, silently.

There are too many to count;

None of us any peace found,

And none of us said goodbye:

Pieces lie there awhile, and die.

  X-x-X

18^th Fiction 55.

I'm officially back, bitches. Time to start blogging again. B)