And the memory is unreachable, I can’t seem to place it. The rain poured, and I leaned in next to you, comforting you. The darkness of the night engulfed us, and I was unaware of our surroundings. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

“For what?” I was dumbfounded. For the touch? For the presence? For finding you? 

“For tomorrow,” you replied, winked at me, and left me ever so confused. 

They say you can’t tell the future. No one can. But that winter, I saw my future in your eyes, and when death came for me, I wondered where you were. 

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