opal necklace

She likes grey, grey days and the tangerine dawn. She likes the dew settled on the lawn. Elegant trees that dance in the breeze. To be wrapped in her yellow coat. she spins like the branches that stretch and spin themselves towards the heavens. She likes the stars that map out the skies she loves the stars when they gleam in green eyes. Big pink mugs full of cinnamon hot chocolate and christmas carols in June. She loves lace gloves and red berets and bathing in the moon. She likes boys in flares with wild long hair and rock running through their veins. She likes free love and daisy chains and little towns with country lanes. She likes shiny coins and burning loins the kind they get in romance novels. She likes the letters he wrote on paper with dried flowers, paper that smelt of lily. She likes buttons on shoes, hat pins, brooches, when little girls are silly. She loves the women in those old classic films, who talk like they're always surprised. Those scenes from books that you wish were real. Fabrics that look as nice as they feel. It hangs from her neck stopping just before her chest. The thing she'll always love the best. The thing he bought her to make up for all the pain, that whimsical little opal on its white gold chain.