•A pale poetry•
In that hidden smuggling smile I lost myself and even my emotions for you have always been there to return it and capture it, foolish me believed it. Today sitting on broken chair I was staring at my feet they were reciting a poem of those split footprints they left on the surface of your heart, as a tattoo, but they want to gather them again to make them live, dance and smile. Actually, my feet forgot and now they are regretting that. I see my feet hold a different memory in those cracked lines and now are reciting it as a poetry.
If you ever see those footprints printed on your heart smoothly, again, just try to feel them as there lies a storyline of this broken girl's feet. Try to feel that moment of moist again, for this girl left a naked story of her soul and feet in your diary. If you ever be able to find that classic ink again then do deliver that with a piece of your heart for this girl still cries for that incomplete, torn story. May the pain my feet hold be barganious as a soft toy and replaceable as a nut bolt.
//Full poem in caption//
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