• _rainfrost_ 56w

    ᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ 6: ������������

    Do you remember the moment when our eyes met for the very first time, last October? Do you remember when you placed your lips on mine in your little apartment room, your face drunk on chatoyant city lights, when you were showing me the Eiffel Tower through your bedroom window? It all comes back to me in shattered flashbacks, like polaroids burnt at the edges.

    I was walking with you, on the Paris streets, while autumn was landing softly on the sidewalks. I had found my true love, so beautiful yet dappled with quaint mysteries. You were a poet living inside a world of your own, and I was a cardinal who knocked at your door and you let me in your sweet birdcage.

    September slid away like a sidewinder with you. We used to meet in a coffee-shop every morning. Cups of latte coffee with you, felt just like the touch of chambré poems and wine on a fall day. There was a waitress who worked in that shop, a pretty brunette, and she used to look at you with a pellucid infatuation floating in her hazel eyes. And you stared back at her, an unfathomable poetry etched upon your blue eyes. I used to be afraid that I'd lose this beautiful love one day by the hands of a dulcet chicanery.

    Insecurities grew in our cage like wildflowers painted in a shade of dusty rose, and they burgeoned until the sun was obscured, the light was faded and gold was rusted. And we pretended as though we'll forever be this close. You asked me why I was so drenched in midnight blue, but darling you didn't know I was trying to breathe an eternity in every ephemeral moment I spent with you.

    And it was days when I realized every single light was out, we moved our hands in the darkness of miscommunication, tried to get hold of each other. But it was cold.

    Lately you're far away from me than ever. One day, I saw you walking down the crossroad, looking so lonely. I would have flown to you but I didn't see which way you took. After some days you called me to meet you at the coffee-shop, but I didn't show up, for I was back there in my office. When I was home I called you back but you didn't pick up.

    Few days passed, as blank as mist and mizzling water. But then I saw you there in the coffee-shop, sitting with that brunette, drawing a heart on the window-glass, and the last leaf of our wonderland withered away, the last streak of light got swallowed by the darkness. But now, after a week full of crying, and your ghosts haunting me in the smoke and darkness, I take the rusted crown of your muse off my head. I let your pictures burn, and now I never stroll through that street, so that I don't chase your shadow in the coffee-shop and walk this same love, like a dead-end. You're calling me again tonight, with your sweetest apology, but, I let your beautiful world break, would you want me still?

    Now this love story's all in the past but all I can think of is this: You read me the escapism chapter every night, till the day you let me escape your bittersweet fantasy.

    ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴄᴀʀᴅɪɴᴀʟ ʜᴀꜱ ʙʀᴏᴋᴇɴ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙɪʀᴅᴄᴀɢᴇ, ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅɪɴɢ ɪᴛꜱᴇʟꜰ.
    ꜱᴋɪɴ'ꜱ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ꜱᴄᴀʀʟᴇᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ʟɪᴘꜱ ᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ ʟɪʟᴀᴄ ꜱᴄᴀʀꜱ
    ʀᴇɢʀᴏᴡɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ; ᴡʜɪʟᴇ
    ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪᴠᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴏꜰ ɴᴇᴡ ᴅᴀʟʟɪᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰᴇᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴀx.



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