a lady's story

a lady's story is sometimes a broken one. shattered shards of vanishing reason's why, and dreams, and faces flying too high to be seen by those on the ground. give her angel wings and flowers on strings, delicate things carelessly floating away against the sky-blue backdrop of heaven painted like earth. she's been there.
sometimes if you look closely, if you hold the snow globe and look into someone else's magic, you can almost touch it, you can almost breathe it in, serenity flashing by before the swirls.
stories tickle and gently caress the cheeks of remembering children. moments of memories draped on clotheslines waiting for someone else to bring them in. they are the beautiful pieces of where we've been together and the lights that danced their way into oblivion.
sometimes a lady's story is told silently. but even then, but even if you were to softly press them up against your skin, wrapping her stories with your own, it can happen, in one moment, you'll hear them calling out to you to stretch the time we had till the end.