you picked up my owl globe music box
and shook it until it snowed
icy sparkles slowly glinting down
falling with no sound
eyes wide
and soft brown
with memories
shadow of a smile
and asked where my other music boxes were
the better memories that were lost
the thin line
between past and present
nothing forgotten
like glass; lovely and easily shattered
echos of laughter and the past
fall like glass
delicate trembling curves
sometimes the feelings inside get messy like dirt
the thing about reality
is that your always waiting
for the next day
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