The puff of difficult wind.

He broke the mirror. He is supposed to love you. You are supposed to love him. Things that don’t make sense are suppose to mingle in misery. Puzzles that arrange in correspondence to situations are supposed to fit. People in love with other people are supposed to accept the facts of reality. Adults are supposed to understand situations. Smiles are supposed to last longer than whiles. We are supposed to be okay with change. And yet it’s you sitting in front of the broken mirror writing this very thing. With you being the puzzle and them being the pieces. With you trying to rescue emotions from the grips of awkward conversations. With hearts weaker than minds but stronger than words. With colors that peel off before they wash off. With the air making it harder, with the puff of difficult wind.


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