Misty.

If my thoughts were objects they’d be contorted,

morphed into an altered form;

alike a cloud or mist that hovers… solely isolated.

If my tears could be collated

they’d form a stream of regret,

a river of all I wish could be realiterated.

If my feelings were on a canvas they’d be the merge

of colours that make up a Sunset:

brush strokes placed spiradically on diverge.

If my heart could wander it would be filled with the urge

to rediscover it’s warmth with you,

only then would love resurge.

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