From the sounds she listens to, it’s the love language you hear
They call it the golden oldies, music that speaks to the heart
To the visuals from every screen she sits in front of, love must be what lobbied her
The main attraction to get any attention from her

Every written note she admires, every chapter she reads, or placed as a visual somewhere
It must be love to make sense to her

Inside the walls she locks herself behind, love is the theme of the day, all day, every day
When you listen to her, all you see is the beauty of her favourite colour

She writes them love stories, reads them love stories
Making a meaning to each one of them through the stories she tells

I know this because I was once a painting in her heart
A page in her diary, a chapter in her book of life
Before that rainy day that washed all the walls clean
Leaving me as just a memory she’s probably desperate to get rid of

Picture by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.co