he never understood the way paint strokes on a canvas could be considered artwork, or took the time to indulge the words printed into worn poetry books. he didn't care for masterful ballet performances and only listened to music for the beat, never for the lyrics.
maybe that's why he lost her. he didn't appreciate art. he didn't appreciate her.
YOU ARE READING
deflorationis
Poeziean anthology of short fictional stories that came from the darkest caverns of my mind, or perhaps were inspired by the sunniest of days. © Moonlitsadness, 2015
