Lint of Crimson

Standard

I was in the moment;

Caught off guard.

You didn’t notice.

Hard is hard.

 

I saw my memory dance before me,

And it was glorious, let me tell you.

But it wasn’t like that,

And you bet I know it.

 

Sometimes my mind likes to add colors where they aren’t supposed to be.

I know too well that memory was golden grey.

As plain as could be,

But golden to me.

 

I deserved better than that;

Every color the eye can see.

Yes, we know that now,

With a new partner to be.

 

I see shades of fuchsia ingrained in my sockets;

Vibrant evergreens along my nerves;

Lint of hints of crimson within my old coat’s pockets.

But lint is lint;

Fleeting, is it not?

The memory came as sudden as the memory left.

No lint of crimson left to preserve.

Not when I deserve an endless palette of colors to explore.

 

 

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