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Pink Sundays

Elise Love / 10


It used to bore me.

The minutes dragged on

and I’d wonder when I could leave. 

We’d talk about the little things. 

Thoughts of sharing strawberry shortcakes

at a place I’d never been. 

Pictures of the cotton candy skies

from inside your patio screen. 

Messages of my latest art 

that you’d always keep.

Roses and azaleas that grew in your yard.

Peonies and cherry blossoms 

that are still growing in mine.

Soft sands of beaches I’d felt

even though you’d never get to see.

Jewelry with butterflies that

I’d never have the heart to wear again. 

Ice cream and frosted treats

eaten days before.

I’d slowly sip on

bitter herbal teas.

You’d have berry pancakes every Sunday. 

Then show me pictures of 

a young me in ballet tutus 

that I had already seen.

The last look I gave before

I turned and left your street.

The blush still hadn’t left your cheeks.

Now all I have left is memories.

I feel so selfish for 

ever having 

wished away the time.

If only I knew back then

what I know now.

Without you in it, the world 

is a little less 

Pink.

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