Wind was smooth,
And the kite, flying high.
And me, in full control of the kite,
I assume.
The kite above,
like a paint brush.
The sky beneath it,
like a canvas.
The string pulled me,
towards the kite.
I was attracted,
I give in.
But the wind got gusty,
The string snapped.
The kite flew away,
Like She did.
The kite,
No longer with me.
But still pulls me,
Like She does.