she is a story so beautiful it never
wants to end and as you read it you get
pulled into the fantasies of another
world deep within the dragons' lairs
and stone castles. she is a book that has
pages upon pages word after word
paragraphs miles long and page
numbers so high you can't see the end
of them. she is the clicking and clacking
of an old typewriter dusted with
memories and faint love. a story so
star-crossed you'd think everyone will
die but. they don't. do they? i can't
remember anymore of that story for the
pages are tinted with yellow twinged
with sadness stained with ordinary
days now. they're old and ragged and
rippled in whispers that scream "back
then" and "remember when".
remember when. i woke up in dreams
overflowing with letters? back then
when our hearts were in sync like
drums and drones, powerful and full of
>> love that overflowed? yes. yes you
do, don't you? you must have. the
pages they keep on turning the words
they keep on spurring your phrases
they never end but. this one did. didn't
it? yes, i think so. in an ordinary sort of
way i'd say. but almost as beautiful as
the princess and the knight the prince
the star the wishes that were thrown
upon them. the sun that sets with fire
on the horizon and the trample of a
single horse ready to ride off into it.
with you. i'm standing by the cottage
waving goodbye to. you or perhaps
hello to the blissful night. who knows?
all i know is that she >> you >> her >>
is out of sight.
