existence.

"Sad stuff makes beautiful poetry, but it's not so pretty to live with." [-Merecat]
*For the Dear Diary Competition*
(I recommend anything beyond 'Tumbling Ash' for the rest is a mess of nonsense words that hold no character, no story and absently fill the page)

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63. Likening Leaves

 

I feel like the leaves where we met and hugged,

that swayed in the wind and watched as we talked for two hours forgetting about

the concepts of time that drags the day on.

 

I feel like the apple we kicked around,

that was beaten bruised on the grass matted down on the mud,

splitting to display it's brown, mushy mess within.

 

I feel like the rushes we danced in,

that we trampled with un-knowing feet and leapt like the breeze would hold us

forever.

 

I feel like the tennis ball we throw,

abandoned and plucked from the depths of reeds that bent high

and tossed like the tops of houses were the height of children.

 

I feel like the sky,

that darkened and dimmed and then rose with a glorious light

that illuminated his freckles.

 

I feel like his eyes,

when we kissed they closed and when they opened they sparkled

with this crazed light.

 

I feel like the pavement now,

currently empty but presenting the pathway to tomorrow's

un-kept secrets.

 

-13th September 2015

 

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