Challenge
Today's weather. The most poetic report wins.
Let the sorrows pour out
Grey sky like your mournful eyes, threatening to release all sorrows at any moment.
The ridges of the clouds are equal to your muscles, creating depth and dimension to what was a flat world.
Golden hues break through the atmosphere as your blonde hair caresses the creases on your skin, as our hands do.
Such a beautiful disaster as yourself should be cherished, loved.
Oh, how I love you.
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