by Tim Philippart
Never, did I petition you to splash me. I never would. Never knowing what color was, how could I ask for it? Alone in my grayness, age etched across my face, a simple study in stone, quite content to be alone. When your colors came, I didn't resist. How could I? I am the victim. I admit your warmth was soothing. The way it slid across me was more than a little good. But, some days you never arrived. When you visited you always left. That was darker than never knowing you which was much more than a little bad.
Every now and then, Tim Philippart writes some prose and poetry. Once in a while, some gets published. He sold his business in 2015 and, now, is learning to write. Contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org or visit his blog at www.imaginiscent.net.er Bio
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