Punctuation marks. Hot pink.

To me you were always this sweet pink question mark.

A wildcard that was safe to keep in my pocket.

First you found someone new, your blue comma.

And when that sentence ended, I was already happily snuggling with a new purple exclamation mark.

A new paragraph began; you told me I was a pink question mark. Hot pink.

But we never found the same page; we weren’t typed onto the same line as we hoped.

Now you have your yellow dash and I’m in an ellipsis being shipped to another book.

Maybe I’ll still keep my sweet pink question mark and place it on a happy page.



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