That thing called love…

You are a hero

My box with a shiny bow

You held the strings of my heart

They danced to your thrall

You let them go suddenly like a distracted child

He picked the severed strings

Handed them to me

Never tried to hold, never could

There was no rush, no tingle

He made me laugh, hope, heal

Sole owner of the strings

Yet I am inexorably drawn to him

Like a crackling fire on a cold night

Like the comfort of an old, soft tee

Like a hot cuppa tea

You were an idyll

He will always be

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