Poetry (words)

Colours. 

In those sleepless hours I think of you. The colours that you left behind in my heart are constantly flowing. They are a welcomed reminder of everything good. 

There’s no remnants of bitterness, the colours have seen to that. Where coldness took root only warmth now resides. I keep nothing hidden. 

So when contentment comes into question I find the threads of our connection are enough however fragmented. Alone isn’t the same as loneliness. 

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