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.