|Favourite style of art: That which comes from the soul.|
SeptemberYou used to tell me about those little things that you see in the corner of your eye, but then you blink and it's gone, and you look back to catch another glimpse of this beautiful moment, but it's lost forever and you regret to have blinked at all.September by DanceBeneathTheStars
You told me that all the pretty things disappear.
'No', I said, 'you're beautiful, and you wouldn't ever leave me.'
You only smiled. You wouldn't, would you?
I didn't understand what you meant with those little, small things you'd see from the corner of your eye. Besides, things don't just disappear like that. You look away and it's gone. All I knew is that I was sure you were pretty, and wouldn't disappear. But I always nodded wisely like I knew what you were talking about.
You left and you left me roses, with a tiny little card attached to them. I cried. Seven months long I cried myself to sleep. Seven was your favourite number.
September. -Septem means seven in Latin. You loved that month.