December 31st

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    December 31st



          Could you for once just think that I'm wonderful? That I'm as wonderfully deep as the ocean and alive as the Atlantic tide and that everything I spoke was like ships to a stranded island on the horizon?


          If not wonderful, could you fathom me brilliant? As brilliant as the planets and nebulae and that my head was made of stars shifting themselves into magnificent constellations in the shape of you?


          But if not wonderful or brilliant or magnificent or any other flattering adjectives that I would bargain my soul to hear floating from your pretty mouth and swimming into my eager ears, could you for once just see me?

Melancholia Billet-DouxWhere stories live. Discover now