Writing: Phases

 

 

Those were the days, 

days full of laughter— wide smiles,

exuberant cries and happy tears.

The future? Endlessly

I wonder, what it was about those days

that made them meriting of remaining under the eternal strings of nostalgia?

Was it the way we spoke,

losing our soul to one another—   

low-breathed dialect

intertwining before our cherry lips.

And, then,

we had our shyness,

a radiant pink,

flushing from forehead to neck—  

so beautiful we glowed

under our intimate red.

Was it your glance?

The way you looked at me, 

flirtatiously inviting me to capture your eyes, 

and combine our thoughts with a pull of pondering eloquence. 

Did you hear that?

Our hearts beating at the same tempo—

like piano keys stroked by intended touches,

one after the other,

on a never ending prelude. 

What was it about those days?

 

 

 

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