Memories of past loves flutter around me, floating like windswept snowflakes untouched by the warmth of another heart. He’s gone tonight, into the strobe lights and an atmosphere of youthful decadence.

“I love you,” I had whispered into the darkness. He held me in his arms, with a silence governed by the laws of motion. I had lost the war.

I imagine the music roaring through the crowd, as sweat and beer rains down on his head and he dances away his anxieties with prettier faces. She’d be the same strain of love I’d once fallen for – honey brown curls, sea blue eyes.

And in this moment, I struggle to hold onto the rope in this tug-of-war… is this because of her? Or is this because I cannot paint skies reminiscent of the films that lit up the cinemas in old Hollywood.

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