Tulle

While walking outside, I passed a young man in a dress made of tulle. He was so happy and free, wrapped in pink, nothing could slow him. At that moment, I knew I had to change my clothing and find a new man. Neither of which would be you.

Symphonic poem

Claps and slaps and clicks and clacks create a song, a soundtrack for us. The overture is pink and romantic, swooning and swelling. The following movements, repeatedly painful, is a symphonic poem without release. Please finish.