Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Lullaby of Tuesday mornings

It is beshert.
I knew the moment your fingers traced the outline of my life.
We played with shadows of candlelight.
And your eyes remained on me.
We are the same you said.
I guess we are.
Only, all I want are no longer shadows.
And you don't see me.
So I pretend it's not real and dilute your ghost with alcohol.
We are destined.
But we forever blow out candles,
To a lullaby of Tuesday mornings. 

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