The breath of a poised royal poinciana
collides graciously with the morning dew,
summer skims past my shoulders as I
charm my ears with another melodious
song of Selena Gomez while sliding my
feet into the office ballerinas. Halfway
stepping into the stale tiles of the kitchen,
a sickly foam rush through my veins,
making me feel apologetic for my
unforgettable recklessness that stole
her away from me. I recalled the last
moment when I gently touched her
apple blossomed face and her plump
prettiness and angelic innocence beamed
in the soft sunshine. Attired in magenta
colored dress, she flolicked in the park
while I was holding her hand. Among
a bunch of children, we were playing
in the chill late autumn air of a
beautiful evening that soon turned
into a devastating accident.
Sixteen years have marked their
graves on my tragic loss.
Maybe she is now chirping in someone's
house holding another hand, feeling
a sense of belongingness or perhaps
she has faded from the worldly sight,
somewhere hidden in the woods, lying
in the unexplored and unknown. I was
eleven years old when she walked into
my house with my uncle who adored me.
My favorite pink shaded watch.
Oh no! My boss has already bombarded
me with two missed calls as I am
yet again late. Nevermind, he will
rain his wrath upon me and I will stare
down at my present silver chained watch
thinking of another excuse.