Guess it's time that I tell you the truth.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

— Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night.

————————

Use me,
he mumbled softly.

But you shall not abuse me,
she responded meekly,
completing his sentence for him.

A moment of silence followed.

Test me,
he spoke a little louder this time.

But you shall not detest me,
she replied at the same volume.

A moment of silence followed,
once more.

Cage me,
he dared her.

But you shall not enrage me,
she said in return
as though she could read his mind.

A moment of silence followed,
at a shorter interval this time.

Face me,
he was shouting now.

But you shall not chase me,
she answered in certainty.

A moment of silence sustained.

————




It was time to let go.

But their fingers were intertwined;
they could not be separated.

It was time to let go.

But their voices stuck as one;
they could not be apart.

It was time to let go.

But their existence would always remain;
they were not yet vindicated.


It was time to let go.

But there was no space to rebut;
they were off to a fresh start.

————————

M.

If I share my toys, will you let me stay?

Don't wanna leave this play date with you.