Little Truths


I'm missing you under a silver moon,
The kind that forced you to see.
I wondered if you'd come back soon.
But knew I was not your favorite tune.
You danced a different dance than me.

You were the first breeze in August,
And I was the first snow of November.
I begged to be your gust,
But floated by as I must.
I still wonder if you remember.

And as the days carry me through,
I find in distant memories the taste of smoke
And little truths unaware to you.
I soon turn to another hue,
And with weary gratitude I have awoke.

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