11 May 2010


You were wearing an orange dress and a blue coat.
You looked so beautiful that day - your long blonde curls floating in the air; your smile, fragile like the weather, and your red toe nails picking through the grass.

There will only be this photo remaining of that day.

Because I choose to forget.


The spice bottles are still aligned on the edge of your old table.
It was there you kept your sorrows. And your loves.
Where did you went to live?

Or was it me that moved?

Or are you still here?


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