White cotton hugs the curves, which stretch the multicolored polka dots into ovals. Artificial zephyrs tug at the sheets, swaying them like maroon sails. Lit from the inside, they wave and flutter lazily as the breeze washes over my skin, still soft from the shower.
The vast expanse of this once-tiny bed impresses its solitary mark on me and I sigh with a melancholy smile curling lips that once smiled for others. Lips that kissed and touched, begged to be broken and stitched back together; lips that will do the same again someday.
Cherry blond wood nearly a century old creaks with the shifting weight of its burden, as the body atop shifts and silently wishes for another. Another touch, the sweet stinging caress... the dull itch of the marks left behind.
With the right backlighting, anything seems possible. Colored film against the lens through which the world is seen changes so much. Red, blue, yellow. No rose-colored films for me. I'd rather see the possibilities of reality, not what I hope reality was.
The vast expanse of this once-tiny bed impresses its solitary mark on me and I sigh with a melancholy smile curling lips that once smiled for others. Lips that kissed and touched, begged to be broken and stitched back together; lips that will do the same again someday.
Cherry blond wood nearly a century old creaks with the shifting weight of its burden, as the body atop shifts and silently wishes for another. Another touch, the sweet stinging caress... the dull itch of the marks left behind.
With the right backlighting, anything seems possible. Colored film against the lens through which the world is seen changes so much. Red, blue, yellow. No rose-colored films for me. I'd rather see the possibilities of reality, not what I hope reality was.
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