something i wrote in bed on a wonderfully windy night

i don’t want to look outside, even tho it’s a nice night. i don’t wanna see the gazebo, even tho the trees there are bending in the breeze and it looks very poetic — leaves taking flight like butterflies on the eve of autumn. i don’t want to imagine him standing there messing around with his phone, smoking. instead i flip thru a magazine and look at colorful photos of handbags, Versace ads and models looking amazing in their clothes.

Published by Cassandra

Writer and visual artist. Avid reader, cuddle bunny. Sweetie, I'd love to.

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