"When I drink milk, I like to think that I'm five years old again and I want my bones to grow, rather than hoping they don't crumble."
The girl looked up at him. He looked back at her and then at the empty carton of milk on the table.
Then the boy and the girl sat, in silence, each with a tall, frosty glass of milk, imagining that they were growing up rather than aging.
The girl and her riddles, though complicated they were, was what the boy loved. It took a special person to silence him with mere words.
YOU ARE READING
Poems - because words can be beautiful
Poetrypoems - because words can be beautiful === The more serious and less traditional of a duo of ongoing poetry collections. It's other half is shallow and your simple rhyming book. This one is just a pile of thoughts and emotions on a page, not rhyming...
