I saw you with her, holding hands. On that street, you were out of time and place, like the remnants of a dream materialising into the mundane. Her long dark hair trailed in the hot afternoon wind as you walked, laughing together; her shoulders sheathed in fluttering peacock scarves; her eyes, deep gemstones reflecting your light. How predictable - the voluptuous gypsy queen, her warm body your home away from home; the philosophers, carefree together. And why should I even blink, for you are a long-ago lover and many have taken your place, and why should I care to see you with someone else? And how is it that your happiness should immediately diminish mine? Is it nostalgia, for the days when I was naive and devoted, with rose coloured glasses for eyes? Or bitterness, that you're still so true to type? Or melancholy, for, in the rear view mirror, I see the traces of a faded gypsy's smile.
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If I was an angel, my wings would be tipped with black...writer, lover, dreamer, thinker, complicated.
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Comments & Feedback (14)
@Irrational_Kimmi thanks, I've been working on it for a while. I'm not mournful, I swear! ππ thanks hub
@Irrational_Kimmi haha classy proposals ftw ππ yeah I think I'd be the butch one in a rship lol
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