Is she sorrow who laughs so loud, her clear tones ringing inside my skull like a curse, loud, louder, and fey. Is she mystery who arranges her curls to hide the laughter so ready to release. Who stabs at me with her golden hair pin when I look at her so solemn, when I won’t laugh with her. Is she anger or envy with her eyes cast right as her eyelashes cast shadows over who I am and who she is, who she wants me to be. Am I priceless or beyond price, in her eyes. Is she a guardian at the gates of unseen love does she look at the magic universe or did she close her eyes sigh and turn around. To laugh. Does she knock at my door when I close it so often or does she wave her wand and transport me to some dull corner of her mind, expunged legs crossed with a cup of tea. I only know her by midnight, when we were torn without our consent, and left to wait. I only know, by the shape of the shadow that fills my dreams. I will have answers when my doors open, I was embalmed so early so well, I’m still learning the way out. Will she laugh when she finds out, or would she have learned to cry


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