Brown coloured chocolate sauce
slides down the mountain of vanilla ice cream.
Next to it, in silence, sits the piece of cake.
It watched you as you leaned towards me
and amidst the clamour of the coffee place,
whispered those magical three words into my ears.
It was a fairytale, or so I thought.
But today, I feel like I am one of the
characters in my short stories.
I speak words only that make sense
in the flow of the story.
A story that I myself am not aware of.
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