Tuesday, October 4, 2011

I remember the color of his eyes...

..not so much what shade it was but the depth of colour, it was almost as if I could see into his soul. This was the first time I remember writing poetry and love letters and allowing someone else to read them. I was free to say what I wanted, how I wanted and there would be no judgments, no critiques; only admiration and respect. As I sit here now, it dawns on me that I haven't written like that since then. Perhaps I've had no reason to. My muse came and went and now I look for it in everyone's eyes just to see if I find a glimpse. I am still looking...

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