Sentimentality …

Sentimental pieces.

An unsent card –

receipts –

a

dancing ballerina –

memories of moments shared.

I don’t know what to do with them all.

Currently they reside in a neat pile

next to pink leather.

Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like

to be heartless.

Without the inclination to keep happy – Summer windswept bits.

But if I was, would I be the same?

Not likely.

In the place of warmth

a

frosty maiden.

Cool and controlled.

In the next life?

Perhaps …

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