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By James Arrington

I met a girl with lilac hair.
Saw through her emerald eyes
visions of a last dance
with a lost lover. Sheʼs the broken
promises he never kept.
I can fix her.
Iʼve been collecting pieces
of her broken heart to mend
with left over pieces of my heart.
When she gives me a chance
Iʼll make those fake smiles real
Like my love because I miss
the days when her smile radiated,
an exposed x-ray, showing
her true emotions like cliché chick flicks
I want us to laugh at while we watch together.
But I never see her laugh anymore,
and her smile has faded just like
that lilac hair when summer
wilts every strand.

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