She is empty-handed,
for sometimes love
is letting go,
and she has always
stayed too long
in the lingering
rose-tinted afterglow,
and it feels good to breathe a little,
which is why she walks alone,
for the clinging becomes
an embarrassment,
especially when it is her own,
yet between comfort and chaos
is where life becomes
so unclear,
yet she hopes for
better days
when all her ghosts disappear.
YOU ARE READING
Fragments
PoetryPoetry and fragments of my mind. Dealing with heartache, betrayal, sorrow, and hope. Originally posted on Instagram and Facebook.
