Are Loving: Present Progressive

With her fingertips, she traced the smooth, darkened skin under his eyes.

"Eyebags," she noted.

"I've been thinking," he murmured, "of you. The shadow of my thoughts is the ink which stains them."

She paused and gazed right into those distant pupils, "maybe it's best for me to leave. For us to be apart. Our broken love etches too deep a scar to heal."

His eyes fluttered shut, like the faint sparks of ignited newspaper clippings gradually dying out.

"Nothing can remove the shadow of us," he breathed, "it's stencilled onto my heart."

She let her hand fall until it hanged limp by her sides.

His lips quivered for a fraction of a second and his eyelids opened again, "I'll never let go. It will always be a silhouette of us against the crumbling world."

"Maybe we are the crumbled world," she whispered.

One person: IS Loving. Throw in another and you'll get ARE Loving. Present Progressive.
Some poems are from my other anthology, but I just categorised it here since it is part of the "same event."