pretisamiyuki43

While strumming on my guitar, loud in joy, yet silent in beat, a single string is broken, the song of the wind becoming shattered and torn. That song I wrote can no longer reach you, memories of that day I yearn to delete A sacrifice for your happier melody in exchange for my heart forlorn. Why does it still hurt? Like a russet tea stain burnt deep into a sweater gray... Like a lone black hued sheep hidden within a throng of bright white fluff... If I divide my sense of nostalgia into tiny paper airplanes, will you find it someday? Or will you cover your ears and leave my reminiscence to dust, miniscule yet tough? On the 11th, I wrote