Words

1

Bring me your words when you come to meet me next. Write them down on paper made of gossamer. Hand them to me, slowly, one by one. Be careful though, they might break. Like promises. But then, aren’t promises meant to broken? Sugar coat your words, so they taste nice, at least in the beginning. So what if they turn out to be just as bitter? Give me my five seconds of untarnished happiness. Coat your words with fairy dust. Let them shimmer in the winter afternoon sun. Hold my hand tightly over yours while you hand them over to me, lest they slip through our fingers. Bring me your words, love. And I will bring you my heart. With a few band-aids on it. But it works, just as well, I promise. But then, aren’t promises meant to be broken?

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