Wrong.

The man didn’t buy flowers,
But he drove on the boulevard at night, under the starry sky,  told her to  smell the camille near the sidewalk.

They rarely went out for dinner.
But he sat in front of her everytime at the restaurant,
Gazing, laughing ,  looking at his girl finishing the final piece left on the plastic plate
“eat,  I’m here just for you”

He didn’t care if he made her mad.
He’d go deaf when she tells him:
I think I just can’t come today.

He wasn’t impressed at her dress- any types of clothes she put on herself 
But he held her face to the sky, as he filled her mind with thoughts.
He pulled her heart from the old dusty box,  as he touched it gently in a way she couldn’t tell.

The man didn’t write.
No letter
No email
No poem
Not even a note under the magnet on the fridge.
But he kissed her good night everytime they said good bye.
The rain was hard; the stars didn’t shine; the moon,  dimmed.
But he hold her right through the darkness,  their body intertwined.
He kept wanting to see her
Naked.
Whatever has been ordinary for her,  was extraordinary with him.

The man didn’t like sweet things, 
But he fed her chocolate, homemade food  and an unnamed love.

He didn’t plan for the right things.
It was wrong…

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