the curvature of a body,
triggering destruction
one touch is what he said.
but when they met, she broke.
she was no longer whole,
and when he noticed...
well, her fragments were strewn across the world.
wherever she went, she left them.
paris, london, moscow, seoul, tokyo,
her bathroom sink, his bedroom floor.
she was everywhere.
everywhere except within herself.
when a person breaks, they ponder how long it takes to put themself back together again.
but this isn't some child's story.
this is a life.
something you can't just replace with another lie.
this is tragedy in its purest form.
this is what shakespeare spoke of when he wrote.
because he knew that she broke sooner than most, but in that,
there is beauty.
YOU ARE READING
petrichor
Poetrypet·ri·chor /ˈpeˌtrīkôr/ noun a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather.
