the plans
are made to go out.
the destination
mapped
and known,
tickets in hand,
keys,
all set and ready
to go.
one last look
into the mirror,
but then you kiss
me
before we
leave, and
things change,
the floor is
littered
with clothes,
the wine gets
opened, the door
stays closed.
was it Hamlet
you were going to
see or
Macbeth, it doesn't
matter anymore,
as you write
your own
story, playing
out each scene
once more.
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