The sky was pink cotton candy. So was his voice. Pure sugar swirled around itself in wispy strands. Soft landings for hard truths. Broken people refuse to be loved.
“I have to go,” he said. The cotton candy brewed into cumulonimbus beneath his eyes. It’s not you it’s me. You’re perfect. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I need to find it. Smooth hesitation. Rain drops. Petrichor filled the blue Honda.
She could picture a small cottage, Somewhere in a forsaken corner in the wilderness of Norway: Smoke billowed from the chimney. A lone resident stood near the warm glow of a fire. The lone man shivered.
“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind.” Lightning cracked / Splitting heart. His eyes smoldered with adoration. He smiled apologetically. Cotton candy melts when exposed to rain and tears: Sticky confusion. “You won’t find warmth if you’re running from the sun.” Silent plea: please come back if you can.
The man in the cabin shifted suddenly and looked out the window. Drifting snowflakes – building tufts of cotton candy. If I can wafted out of the chimney, Scented with cedar and rain clouds – Singed with uncertainty. Tainted cotton candy cannot be restored.