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I wanted to walk in the forest with you
I took your hand
We stepped to the edge where vines grew thick
and flowers smelled sweet and dangerous
like the perfume we purloined
from your mother's dresser
As our lips touched
I swear I heard the dryads sing
and I ached to follow but
you turned away
laughing
How many times
have I returned to that day?
How many times
have I tried to find that mossy forest entrance?
But the path is closed
In its place, a tangle of dried brambles
and withered blooms
scentless
like a dusty bottle of evaporated perfume.
