Blow

 

You blow me away,
perfectly.
Walk past me
with your shattering wind,
magical.
Everything about you is grand,
you deserve a pedestal,
a stage, a shrine.
But no,
you can’t be a statue or
a wax figurine in a museum –
to be gazed upon.
You’re a motion picture,
in action,
romantic.
Rolling, showing off,
for awards and brownie points.
Yet, as all movies do,
you must end.
I’m sorry.

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