Dearest night,I suppose you haven’t met day. I often wond...

Dearest night,

I suppose you haven’t met day. I often wondered how it would feel like to be ordinarily free.
Pouncing my feet into fields of lavender et barefeet, giddy with the sunlight hitting my complex skin thinking of days that I had missed. Because missing days hath reminded me of France or the dance of daylight on the dunes looking out to the sand, thinking of what wild winds that ruptured the days.
Or such a distant haze.
Life often feels like a phase.
Maybe a sunny bout of yellow rays?

Only in the day.

When life was normal then. And people were kind then. And you smiled then.
But now I close my eyes et i count to 10.
dearest day, that was then.
Rest world, the story shall soon unfold…

bonsoir,

simply rhymes being told.

Forever your Writer,

RS