The Haunted Love

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 Chairs… Walls… Dreaming over your left shoulder… A piece of hurt… Dark wooden stairs… Life is rustling… I have been told some weird stories… A ghost, a love… You have ghost blue eyes… Pushing you in a short story, sentences are going on you with my handwriting… Dark blue handwriting…Life and love with blue ink… This story is a very narrow street… Not enough wide for passing two lovers… Travelling on your white hair, I want to fall in a deep long sleep… So it is just as easy as sleeping at noon… You are not a hero… I don’t need a hero… I just need to have a dark blue walking on your face with long steps miles away on highways, streets, neighbourhoods… If you scare of my being traveler on you , you must close your blue eyes… I can’t help wandering around your heart… It is like being a familiar face known for centuries like a myhtological story told from one heart to another door… I am wound to live you, walk you, face you like a family clock which had been on the wall for ages… Jazz time is my crime… Loving you without any permission… Blues is my crime… Sorry, I had loved you before every sentence was written with ink… Colder nights, impossible questions to be answered, no choice to leave or stay… I am very guilty of walking in your blue eyes… My love will be your ghost endlessly… You are haunted…       PHOTO TAKEN : flickr.com — See more at: http://kukulyaci.com/literature/the-haunted-love.htm#sthash.mSCjxScc.dpuf

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