Ice blue pastels bled through my sealed irises a little after noon. Absentee silhouettes left space for the breeze of an equinox to fill the empty rooms. As the sun set early behind aluminum clouds, I walked alone through my graveyard of missing lovers. Strewn thin with dead rose petals and crumpled lovenotes. Every headstone embedded with a tiny, dirty mirror, and words embossed with mossy carvings just above it that says "Within this reflection, the face of a casual murderer." I carefully brush away leaves and ballooning spiderwebs out of respect for their once-noble efforts. I retire when the blues have thickened to orange molasses and purple crystalline.
10:30 a.m. - 2017-03-20
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