He wanted her. He wanted her hand. 

What he aimed for every morning tying up his boots. 

She was the fire to the ice cold snow storms. 

A shot of whiskey aged ten years. 

He would chase her to the ends of the earth. 

Forever he dared and promised, 

If he died a tragic death that he would come back. 

Find a way for a second chance. 

To ask her for her hand in another life time. 

He loved her from the moment he saw her. 

The kind of feeling that only hits you once, 

If you’re lucky. That kind of love that burns,

Brighter than the sun but hits like an eclipse.

Slowly almost unnoticed, until realizing, 

And wondering why it is dark at noon.  

Published by Ms. Selective

Traveling Gypse with a Heartfelt Spirit.

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