Seventeen Minutes

by akishchuk

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In the summer you missed the fairies having a dancing party in your garden because you went off somewhere not as pretty to do something less important.

When in the winter you stopped loving me, I thought it was maybe because it had grown too dark for you to see.

Middle seasons don’t exist in love and somehow I am always cold.

I fear I have fallen long ago into the gap between us and your ears, so accustomed to my screams, no longer react, but the wolf has come hungry for blood and a beating heart this time.

The world remains beautiful; it just hurts to look at, that’s all.

The pain in my stomach has moved to my chest, but I blame my eyes; evil machines operated by the demons running free and destructive in my head. They stomp so loud – too loud – but still you won’t hear.

The wind blows unpleasant and pushing me and I can’t figure out when it started to break through me.

That summer day you left, you hated me for trying to share the pain and I hated you for not wanting to help me the way I would throw myself at a thousand sharks if they had stolen your smile.

The fairies went to bed and still you did not return and the drums beat louder in my breast.

The time of day when the sun is set but its light remains is the stillest and therefore the most beautiful.

The wind gone, I tried to imitate a flower, standing pretty and quiet, growing in peace and only making people happy.

I smiled at no one because I thought maybe you would like to find me smiling for once.

In the evening, with food and too much noise, surrounded by dark, you could see me so well and I knew even the brightest of lights that winter would not have helped me keep your love.

You held me tight in the morning and it felt a little like love until you left and I again sat waiting.

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