Writing of flowers and sunshine and kisses
Is very well for the unforgotten, the ones where
Promises are still kept.
But it gets to be ridiculous when all you have known
Is leaving, lying, and cheating.
These words flow from a place of
Disappointment—
A place of pure and poignant
Sorrow—
A place of deep and abiding
Wishing for better
Than she has ever known.
And yet, she writes—
Of happiness and love and joyfulness
Most days—
Just not this day.
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