it snows every day you’re not around
I drive around memories of you
a cul-de-sac collection
the finest rose-coloured moments
when you always said the right thing
and everything else
every misstep or argument
swiftly forgotten
how often do we put people on pedestals
imaginations of the faces we project
the faces we wish we were
elleguyence 
Too often, I fear.
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Very deep
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Reblogged this on The Reluctant Poet.
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