Different


It was the 4th of May,
No the 5th,

And the sun was bright;
The grass was green;
A Sinatra song was playing,
In the radio.

She rolled in,
In a car with lights.
First they came out,
And then she followed.

The day was still bright,
The grass was still green,
And Frank was still singing,
But she was different.

Mellow words,
Almost spoken in whispers.

Actions bereft of subtlty,
And unhidden tears.

Everything happened on egg shells,
Soft and with caution.

There were moments,
When we didn’t think of yesterday,
And we couldn’t care less,
Of the next day.

In these moments,
We let out laughter,
We were unashamed to smile,
To do the things,
We use to do.

But they were just moments.

And then she left.
It hurt less than it was meant to.

Maybe, she wasn’t who,
I fell in love with,
There wasn’t that energy,
That spark,
That electricity,
That made many an idle night,
The best ones we had ever had.

She was different.

Or maybe,
That summer day,
When the sun was bright,
And the grass green,
When she walked out of,
A car with lights,

I was different.

Picture by Toimetaja Tolkebur (Unsplash)

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