We sit, I eat; we watch the city’s glow.
This rooftop picnic isn't going well.
I hoped we would have time enough-but no,
He's back inside that taciturn, cool shell.
I'd planned to watch him savor every bite,
To hear that lilting joy within his voice.
His eyes are sad, his face is drawn and tight.
He claims not to regret his awful choice.
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