As sunny skies
And playful winds
Once paled in comparison to her
Such did our story
Bound to a book
With raindrops permeating the attic
Falling on molded cover
And withered pages

Her hair soft and sweet
Pleasant, yet sour
Announcing with a scent of raspberries
Yet, so expectedly
Did the fruit rot
Leaving stains and smears
Like nautical wallpaper
Scraped off with sand

The windows are closed
And the air is stale
Amidst dust outlines of bygone boxes
Jealousy absconds
While I sit in the tub
With nausea finally subsiding
Yet there is a final lurch
As I pull her hair from the drain

-Galwyn

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