Belong to Us.

Her eyes filled with her smile. Lips quivering with cold. A chill whispering her dark blond hair underneath her charcoal gray wool cap. She wraps her shoulders gently and adjust her matching scarf slightly pushing it further up her pale skin neck.

A part of her that used to belong to me.

Her off white cable knit sweater under her navy blue cashmere walking coat blissfully shields her. Up against the bitter climate, she indulgently wins. Never mistaken her heart to ever be cold.

A part of her that used to belong to me.

Her wrist is a catacomb to the memories of friends wrapped in leather and lanyard cloth. And the glimmer of golden rings outweighs her fragile fingers. She does not wear gloves. She preferred the warmth of my hands or my corduroy lined pocket.

A part of her that used to belong to me.

Her light-washed blue jeans delicately shapes her tiny frame. The whiskering behind her knees tell a story of a decaying cotton. Ending with her brown nubuck boots, dirty with the figment of an ashed sidewalk. Her soul is strong, knees never buckle.

A part of her that used to belong to me.

She glides gently against the wind. With every step a part of me is willfully gone. A silhouette of admiration and change. The aging of a lonesome months past is behind her. Her choice over mine.

A part of her that used to belong to me.

She travels far way from my pessimistic identity.

A part of me that used to belong to her.

by Nate Bui