i remember the first time i asked you what you listened to. you told me you listened to almost anything and everything. so i asked you to give me a song to listen to, and your choice was unexpected. you gave me a song, although it was more just spoken word with a beat behind it (i wouldn't consider it rap, really. but maybe it was rap). i asked you about the singer. you told me he was the lead singer in one of your favorite heavy metal bands. "heavy metal?" i questioned. i was reluctant to listen to it until you told me it wasn't metal, and that i would enjoy it since i enjoyed poetry so much and was really good at it. so, i took a listen. the song turned out to be a suicide note. i cried the first time i listened to it. i called you as i downloaded it onto my phone. you heard my sniffles on the phone and asked me what was wrong. i told you that i had cried over the song. you told me that crying isn't a bad thing, it kept your eyes moisturized. i laughed and you asked me if i liked the song, even if it did make me cry. i told you i did, even though it wasn't what i expected from a sarcastic asshole like you. you told me that people just don't care enough about your feelings, they don't bother to see past what's shallow. but i did. so you shared a piece of your soul with me, and i listen to that song every day since.
YOU ARE READING
Gypsy
Poetrya poetry collection "Gypsy souls aren't meant to stay in one place; they're meant to wander. I got tired, bored, and depressed in the place that I was at. Change was the only option. So I packed up my soul in a suitcase and left."
