It’s a tee. It’s a dress. It’s the new Graphic T-shirt Dress.

paradox

the pitter-patter of painstakingly small puddles plummet across my window pane

the long trail they leave behind as delicate as a swallow’s spine

crooked and eerie

but pretty

I trace the lines with my finger, calculating the distance in centimeters

one two

the drops combine.

if the windows were eyes

they’d be drowning in their own tears

although no one has ever really died of sadness before.

my mother is trying to prove me wrong

I’m on my way to visit her.

I bought her flowers to put in the vase

I bought her last time

I brought her chocolates to sweeten her tastes

and a clown to cheer her misery

when he released a hundred doves

she only stared vacantly at his face

her eyes tracing his gloppy red mouth.

like a black hole.

paradox

Beloved

Joined December 2008

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