A strand of hair
curled around your ear
flutters
in the gush of air
that has accompanied me
all along, as I ran till here,
to ask you to come back,
to not leave me there.
You negate.
Head swaying right to left,
eyes on mine.
I plead, beseech, cry.
You ask me to leave.
I do, slow, backwards,
one step at a time,
wishing for a word spoken in that voice.
Nothing. Nada. But...but I see something
that makes me smile.
The strand nods. No negation in line.
The head listens to the heart.
Your or mine?
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