Cheesy hearts. Hopeless smiles. Folded pieces of paper. Stardust oozing out of hands.
I say, "Love is small. Precious. Fragile. Tinier than a butterfly's heartbeat."
You say, "Love is huge. The world. Never fitting into anyone's palms."
I guess we were both right.
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
