Sunday, 10 February 2013


I want to be the slight figure in the picture, always surrounded by the chilly unfamiliar

Her face composed of emotion.

Her hair rebellious and long

Not breathtaking, by standards of Western culture, but intriguing in her entirety

Her gaze bowed, to avoid the need to explain the softened sadness from the years of loving, behind her eyes

Full lips, pursed with unspoken words for those moments in the dead of night

Where the only sounds, are our two hearts echoing as one. 

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