He was Quentin Tarantino.

And she was Wes Anderson.


And together they clashed.


His chaos confused her,

There wasn't the whimsical element she was used to.

And so, she changed.

To fit in.

To feel wanted.

To have love.


The hushed mauve colors

Turned crimson.

The soft spoken words

Turned into shouts.


And as she transformed,

She didn't notice that,

He did not.


Not a single thing. 

He was forever crimson.

Never wavering.


And maybe that should have been

the sign.


And everything came crashing when his words

Turned gray.

His love turned blue.


And he left her.


6 months later

She is no longer just Wes Anderson.

She's whispers of Spike Lee.

And Francis Ford Coppola.

And Taika Waititi.


She wanted to be every movie genre

That he wasn't.


And she prays to some unknown deity -

[If that sort of thing exists]

And asks that she forget.


And that she can let go.





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