Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

What Happens Under The Picnic Blanket Stays Under The Picnic Blanket

I am astounded for an instant,
but then I return to restful resignation,
persuaded to pursue life to its bitter, beautiful end.
You are my best friend but you are my hell.
You are my lover, but you’ve shredded my sanity,
and you stand there with the audacity,
this audacious little smile,
like you don’t know what you’re doing.
I am in love with you,
but I’m losing the will to live,
lost in this languishing love that can never be returned or reciprocated,
because you are a circle of secrets,
and I will always be caught in the middle.
Good vibes as the sun set in Valencia,
our first and last kiss as we waited for the waves to wake up,
and for a minute,
an entire sixty seconds,
while the sun was the only one who could see us,
you held my hand under the blanket.

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