The Romantic
A small cell illuminated by a window.
Night framed in a cold wooden frame.
The stars are aligned, the moon is emptying.
A night painted for romance, but I am alone.
A small wooden radio plays on the shelf.
Old love songs echo in its empty chassis.
I never knew the tunes syncopated with my heart.
Heartbreak, loneliness resonated in my empty chassis.
A pen rests upon an empty page; a relationship inactive.
Imagination binds the two; the hand to draw the two.
Smiles are written, hands are held; experiences yet to exist.
Stories are fine. For me, stories are fine.
A single mattress with white sheets and pillow.
The only white in the room, the moon the only white in the sky.
Sleep is all I can do, dream is all I can do.
Love is only something to think about, love is only something to dream about.
The romantic…
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