It rained hard last night.
The petrichor still lingers
On the pavements.
Like the haunting scent
Of a thousand "what if's".
Still breathes the airs
Of the forgotten kiss.
While the Semisonic blends in
The zephyr of the early autumn chills.
Granites, graphites, and all the possible debris
Of the sequels of the story
That has long been ended.
All fragmented memories
Remembered
On this Tuesday Morning.