He held crushed velvet to his face and soaked it in memory. Almost funny, it was the very same thing that made it a beautiful day that had cloaked the sky in a crimson, deep red that dripped off the tree branches like honey. And when he held his loss in his shaking hands he realized that as he was waking up she was dying. (both of which are alot alike if you think about it) and that no soft smile, childs hug or uneasy visit would bring her back. It was his first look at death and her last.
Reason for writing:
thank you for reading. maybe its not a poem, i still think its art.
Birth sign: Pisces
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