Two hundred
two.
Two people, some time ago.
Two hundred and sixty five days ago.
Two people and a pause.
Three hundred and eighty one thousand, six hundred minutes of remorse.
Two people, one and two.
One person watches another one go.
Twenty two million, eight hundred and ninety six thousand seconds of saliva, going down a single throat.
And the timeless silence of a coward,
letting another one go.
Addicted to nostalgia, dripping by the ticking movement of its sword.
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