The only heart that was against the meaning of love traced every inch of the rose petals with her bare skin and left the red from bleeding down her heart but made her less confused as she already knew what she wanted and how she was going to get it.
There was no master of the arts there was only the stories with the imprinted words of a tattoo on her heart that was the closest thing she ever had to remembering what it was like to love you until the day of the dreams turned to night in her memory of sleep.
It was just yesterday when she thought of me climbing up the ladder only to jump off the mountains and into the ocean of the river of the waves crashing back and forth into what felt like the pearl of the sea staring right into her soul that was her dream.
It might not be now but it is going to be found even if that last word of the chapter is found amongst the leaves of the trees.
YOU ARE READING
The girl with the flowers of the wind
PoetryThe flowers That have gone back and forth with the wind of the girl with the flowers of rose petals And the love that makes her the lasting hour of the memories of the moonlight wings.
