Like the leaves that expired last fall, my watercolor tears bruised an empty page. From the inkblots of my grief a girl with the beauty of the night sky was born.
We walked two separate worlds and I wanted to bind the insolent wind in chains, jealous of how free it was to flirt with the girl's licorice locks. Despite its muted murmurs though, she turned around and with trembling lips, said hello.
I tried concealing my affections with nonchalance but her charm was stubborn like coffee stains. My gaze rested upon her face and my body ached to feel her porcelain skin and button nose. Why I injected ink in my veins made no sense but when it settled inside my body I knew there was no turning back.
She was smiling still. With a throbbing heart, I came closer, slow and precise. Our lips touched and I forgot that she was nothing more but a product of my incommunicable torment.
And then I held her hand.
I feared that in the moment my eyes becomes silent, my muse too shall bid farewell but I knew that for this tale to pursue, I must wash away the smeared ink.
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