The Magician

How long before my eyes don’t drift to the door?
Waiting for you to walk in.
How long before our ghosts fade in places I revisit alone.
You kissing me against that wall.
Our walks in the night.
You next to me in bed.
When will I not be able to recall the sound of your laughter?
When will I forget your touch?

We had love and in an instant it was gone in a cloud of smoke.
My most elaborate trick.
I even believed it myself.
That I didn’t love you.
That I didn’t care.

I thought the white rabbit always reappears.
Like nothing happened.
Waiting for the next show.

My eyes still drift to the door.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Willing.
The crowd is gone.
Believing the show is over.
And I have never left the stage.

Do you believe in magic?
Or was it all just an illusion?

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