Quaint little coffee shop around the corner,
On a dreary Sunday afternoon,
They sit with sleep weighing heavy on their eyes,
Sharing the words,
That will mean more in their late night pondering.

She sips her brew slowly as he speaks,
Holding every thought of her own in the creases of her lips,
Intently gazing into his exhausted brown eyes,
He is spilling somber, sleepless slurs,
About when they might cross paths again.

Returning similar apprehensions,
She instills all of these fears into herself,
Tells him she refuses to let this be the last time,
He, leaning his forehead into his hand,
Internally fights for more powerful words.

“Please do not leave me.”
All he could muster as he reached across the table,
Squeezed her hand tightly in his.

What she retorted, choking on tears,
Stroking her fingers through his course, dark hair.
“Not in this life, or the next.”