We sometimes get a homey feeling from those memories.
Thus, even when our thoughts stray, they eventually return to them.
Every night, I lay in bed and think about the rain, kissing me and making me want him even more.
I had some alone time with him for a few hours, and as those were my days, they were set on fire.
YOU ARE READING
The Season
PoetryI want you to spell The Season when you gasp in the end of each inked page.