Purple Rain

104 21 11
                                        

The next few weeks are dark.

My grip on reality    s
                                           p
                                               i
                                                  r
                                              a
                                           l
                                      l
                                       i
                                         n
                                             g

out of [CONTROL]


Questions like:

"DO YOU NOT LOVE ME
ANYMORE?"

and 

"WHAT SHOULD I DO

TO GET YOU BACK?"

dominating my thoughts.



"................................................"


Orsai's cold shoulder,
her silent treatment,
stayed unrelenting.


Until one August Saturday.


When she turned to me,

her perfect curls shining in the
rare sunlight from the window,

and said:


"I'm going away.




And it's your fault.




I hate you."


                                              

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