dear oliver,
the car drive to the therapist
was awfully quiet. yet the most
beautiful kind of quiet. our eyes
didn’t meet, yet our hands entwined.
the colors of the trees blurred away
as they chased each other down the
street.
“you know, the trees, they don’t
know how beautiful they are. they
don’t see how they grow such
radiant flowers, they don’t know
that they go through seasons that
bring them a touch of beauty.
they don’t know that, yet we,
humans do.” you laughed as you tapped
the window.
“so?”
“so, you’re a tree.”
i raised my eyebrow
at you. “should i be
insulted?”
“no, you’re just beautiful.
you just can’t see it.
but i can.”
red cheeks.
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
