Sunday


I will watch you go.  Over the hills, over the heather.  Crumbling the bells beneath your leather shoes.  I will watch you vanish, and hold my chest.  You turn gold, briefly, and look back.

Every pain I caused you, every hurt, harsh word, I hold it to my heart.

Then you come, tumbling down the hill, rolling through the purple--a blur of pink and yellow.  I catch you in my arms.  You ask why am I crying.

photo by ffion.

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