What am I?
Or where the light hits the edge of the water. The sea of our minds, nothing and everything. I loved and lost, and now I love again. But when does it once more collapse in on my perfect daydream.
Where the notes are sweet and I can hum to myself in the absent summer shade. Winter breath? Hard of my skin. Seasons kisses flowing freely from her lips.
But when does she bleed?
When the knife cuts.
And she can no longer hide, but cry. The tears form silently in her pretty blue eyes. The tell a atory, a story so sacred its not to be told. When something is holy, it should be kept secret. So only the author can bask in its infinite bliss. Because I know something you don't know, and never have.
That summer morning, and I looked you in the eye, then told you your mistake.