You'd seen it before,
But for me, it was the first time—
The Pumpkin Festival,
A world of orange, twisted vines,
Where art met harvest under the chilly sky.
The pumpkins were more than fruit,
They were characters from stories I knew,
Faces I'd seen in movies,
Brought to life in shades of orange and blue.
I couldn't help but smile,
Like I'd stepped into a dream,
Where everything familiar was made new.
The air was cold,
But your hand found mine,
And suddenly,
I didn't feel the chill at all,
Just the warmth of your fingers intertwined with mine,
A soft heat that made everything feel right.
You groaned when I asked for a picture,
You always hated being in photos,
But with that devil headband on your head
And my cat ears perched high,
You let me snap a shot of us
Among the pumpkins and twinkling lights,
And in that moment,
I realized
That this was one of those memories
I'd want to keep forever.
YOU ARE READING
Where Words Fall Short
PoetryA collection of poems that captures the depth of love where language falters. 'When Words Fall Short' is a tribute to the glances, quiet sighs, and unspoken bonds that speak louder than words-dedicated to the one who makes every moment timeless.
