HarsH ReaLiTy

She smells of stolen moments and goodnight kisses. I catch her scent upon the back of one of her sentences as it flies randomly in my direction. I savor it. Each word, down to the letter, I taste it so I can taste her. I hover around her conversation. Never daring to speak to her directly, I flutter listlessly until she draws me in. And like a moth to the flame I find myself conversing with her shadow in a corner. I fix a misplaced hair on her head and imagine her amused grin. I sit there and speak to her all night. She never hears a word.

-OM

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