𝑨 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝑻𝒐 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑽𝒐𝒊𝒅 [ 𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑑 ]

Mixtape, Polaroids and You

Everything was vivid -  it was you. The rain was on its greatest downfall and the dews on my glass window were making you almost nebulous but it was you. I have sent my wishful hopes away to the interstellar of the galaxies, but the great breadth of it was futile - it was frivolous for it went back crossing the haze of Las Vegas, kissing the sunset of Los Angelas, back to the coastline of California; I have found those little hopes inside the mixtapes and polaroid photographs that you put inside my rusty mailbox. It was you and I watched myself falling again - like a bee that got inebriated watching tape passed from one 
reel to another as it was being played. It was you - vivid and true. Your freckles scattered on your face as if those were little bitty diamonds adorning your face. To me, the rain-wet you looked like a vogue thespian in the city that never sleeps- the one that demoiselles fell head over heels all over again. I remember, you used to cage me inside your sentimental arms and the hug felt like I was stroked by Van Gogh's paintbrush- slight and addicting, the one he once used in painting the Starry Night. You used to write me euphonious poems- and I, on the balcony watching you recite it was the happinest sweetheart in the bivouac of us. It sounded so pleasing- it was a darling to me, dulcet and dreamy. The archaic of us was still vivid and the polaroid photographs that you left on my mailbox along with the mixtape cassettes made it more vivid. You pictured me us- the ones we never wished to happen and you recorded a mournful goodbye.

So here I am, reminiscing every single thing about us, inside this the tub with all the water drowning my sanity into nothingness. It was raining and yes, it was vivid- we're done.