I met her when her hair was dyed red. She wore a long brown coat and a black scarf. She was autumn in a person, and yet I wondered why she chilled me to my bones. Her kiss was soft but burnt. She tasted like ashes and danced like a blooming phoenix. I still remember her firestorm on the dance floor, and yet I wondered why I still find sparks on the back of my tongue at night. She wouldn’t have known love even if it pleaded with her as much as I did. She told me she dreamed of escape. Escaping her mother. Escaping her boyfriend. Escaping the natural brown of her hair and escaping the way the season in her head wouldn’t change. And yet I wondered why she slipped away.
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