I saw her.
Standing there, innocent and grace and the people were in envy by that.
She was a one of a kind out of a dozen in a crowd.
It didn't matter if she was smarter than you, had a clearer view of how you see the world, poetry flowed through her like flowers blossom in a dusky spring morning.
With her loving me made things better- in fact, it made me feel alive again, knowing their was someone or something that loved me for me.
It was 1 in a million.
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the broken poet | slow updates
PoetryMy soul is broken and poetry heals me. [ © -bruisedmemories 2017 ]