You are the indifference of the stars. The dusts in the windows have bloomed into profusion, the curtains bled in your absence, and your laughter melted straight into the wall. The last time we were together you were happy.
A few days after that you were barely returning my affection. Do tell me what transpired in between. I do not understand.
It’s not dawn yet but the night has already coiled into myrtles of meaningless thoughts. You became the speedy train at 4:30 in the afternoon. You ferried the ghost to their comforts and I hobbled after you until there is nothing left in that barren station but unwanted litters and overworn seats.
The railings refused to accept my existence and I have ceased expecting love to rescue me.
You are the indifference of the stars and there is tenderness in reading poetry, in silence, at 2 o’clock in the morning. I am not going to run after you but if you do not find home in strange places, a candle in my window can lead you back to me.
There's definately a lot to know about this #literary issue. I really like all the points you made.
You've made some good points there. I looked on the internet for additional information about the issue and found most people will go along with your views.
I learn something totally new and challenging, It's always useful to read through articles from other authors and practice something from other sites.
Thanks @barbons
Hello James. Thank you for your kind words. Truly, words like these can enable a struggling writer to go on. Keep making a difference!
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