what would I tell you, I wonder. Would it be the triumph over her nonchalant laugh?
Or would it be like a sad fairytale? A king without his queen.
Would it be the place it all started?
Or the way it all ended?
Things never fell in places for him, especially when he wanted them to.
Yet he was upbeat and denizened in those,
dulcet memories with her back then. No more incessant crying at nights, perplexed of what he did wrong,
so wrong, that she had to leave him alone, fabricated all along, so long that, he overlooked the present. That’s what I wonder, what would it tell you? The effulgence of the past or the fecklessness of the present.
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