He bought my favorite tulips,
And took me out on a date.
He took my hand in his ,
His eyes asked for permission
To dance ,
I nodded slightly.
Our feet moved slowly syncing to the lines.
He called me his محبوبہ ,
That stirred my stone-cold heart.
I've never even let someone reach
my ribs , let alone heart.
But for you , we let eachother hold the
Crimson red organ,
Inside our ribs.
We talked about happy endings ,
It was too unrealistic for us.
We talked about grief ,
Our love language was grief.
Never knew we'd be eachothers
Grief.
YOU ARE READING
Gravestones of survival.
Poetry~People often misunderstand my gravestones of survivals into piece of art.~ Random pieces of poetry.
