Ink-Stained Fingers

In the coffee shop’s morning embrace,
Two souls, lost in a silent chase.
A couple, heads together, yet distant, apart,
Their union, an intricate and sorrowful art.

The woman, her ink-stained fingers a tale,
Of dreams and hopes; an emotional gale.
With a flushed face, she bears her burden,
Pride and defiance, her armor, her curtain.

Across, he sits stoic, unmoved, a silent stone,
As her inked fingers dance, expressing her unknown.
Words whispered, yet understood in their silence,
A narrative of disappointments, a quiet defiance.

The morning light reveals a future untold,
A tapestry of emotions, their stories unfold.
Both intense and mundane and brimming with life,
In the quiet chaos, they both navigate the strife.