---
wondrous, the times had been;
horrible, the year had been.
no words captured the past
the way your glasses did.
no photographs described the past
the way your penmanship did.
it had been years ago
the first you touched
my eager heart,
allowing words of
wringing laughter
unpredictably
hurt my future.
it had been years since
i would find every square
of a four-week time exciting
because i would get a chance
to focus on your craft's magic.
those days will still haunt my head
and remind me i deserve none
of the colors i wished from your palette.
those days will remain vivid,
like the pages that would always
fly with you on those days.
on those days. . .
i wish i knew i would hate myself
for rolling my eyes
after tearing up.
years ago, i never thought photographs
would bring the existence of the past
to me.
years ago, there were nights you pulled
the tears out of my eyes and laugh
with me.
years ago, love was simple and we would
laugh and talk about candies and pages
of love.
years ago, your hands admired my hair,
but it changed and i did—i wish i never did.
but we just did.
and now, i can only wish you never find this
because no one taught me your name's existence
is of the beautiful past.
---
YOU ARE READING
the places i've been to inside
Poetryt h e p l a c e s i ' v e b e e n t o i n s i d e ╰ a compilation of poems ╰ ongoing i am still on my journey. i do not know where this heads to, but it's all inside.
