What the broken umbrella wont ever accept,
is that it means nothing more to me
except the memory of a rainy night,
when pacing up a sleeping footpath,
i noticed a gait neither too slow nor fast.
Giving in my own pace to enjoy the one ahead,
i called out a name.
:)
And she looked back
.
.
1 comment:
good one... both the write-up and ur charcoal painting :)
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