An Intergalactic Sunday Morning

Dear Lover,

The scent of your hair and the fragrance of flowers is still new born within my nose. The tender touch of your lips resides where you had kissed mine, alongside the remembrance of your embrace. The rows of people and their faces are a blur blurred into each booth just like the children’s laughter and screams. The fading music seems to have belonged only to our stroll through the busy streets of our temporary home in form of a Sunday famers market. Thank you. Thank you for the memories. If I never see you again I have been blessed with your presence, yet, once again.

Hopefully the tides of change brings us back together sometime.

Much love,



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