To call it a chance is a desperate thing
But I think it's fate, destiny
Co-existing with you
Strangers in the same room
Than town
Colors are so loud when you're near
It's fleeting, like wind against my face
When biking fast
It's a thrill
To call it chance, I'd need to hold on
But now I just think it was destiny
That I got to gaze upon you
We're such gentle strangers on each other
I see it in the color
YOU ARE READING
Send it
PoetryTW' trauma dumping read this in an accent, thank you. Yes, all thoughts are authentic but never original. This kills me, so I search. It would kill me less if all authenticity didn't claim healing is a forgetting through the passage of time. That t...
