She used to dance.
In the moonlight, under the rain, on the streets.
Her tinkling laughter accenting soft melodies, her chestnut hair tumbling down that pale, slender neck.
She used to dance.
With her whole heart, a smile breaking through her lips, faint crinkles around the corners of her eyes as she spun into his arms.
She used to dance.
But the curtains fell. And her soft leather heels rest, nestled among layers of furry tissue, hidden in the far crevices of her white oak closet.
She used to dance.
But there is no more melody. And she no longer held his heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment