I am a woman. You are bright.

There’s nothing worse than realising you were the lone creator of shared memories.

Left with a box of fucked up, rotten, festering dreams as your chosen partner turns and flees.

I am a woman. You are bright.

I am attracted to your flame,
Like a dampened moth I search
Through dark duskened daily revolving nights.
You were that intoxicating light,
That had me captured, dancing a lonely sight,
As I played to our hearts’ delight.
Thinking that when you flamed,
You mirrored an external burning,
a deep heat for me,
one I stupidly saw as a gifted,
for our entwined hearts to pursue.


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