Charlotte, You Could Do Better (But I Can't)

Dear Charlotte,

We first met in a whirlwind
Of loose ends and missed connections.
We tied the ends in careless knots
And joined up as many dots
As we could.
And there, I found you.

In a child's scrawl, an unlikely shape,
Your silhouette in a colouring book.
Deformed and weird, your flaws on show:
Lips too large, but eyes aglow.
I found comfort in your simple intricacies;
I laboured (for you) with uxoriousness.

My memories are all in crayon,
Scribbled on my bedroom wall
Your face from a thousand angles;
Angels working miracle pastels
And a black thundercloud:
That's me.

Playtime came to an end, however:
Playing Doctor to my bruised psyche bored you;
You found someone better, someone simpler.
He's reliable; handsome; his dimples
Point inwards to his emptiness - he's grown up
And I'm clinging onto innocence.

- Alex.

The End

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