i wake up alone
with cold hands in the morning.
if only there
was someone here
to warm them.
YOU ARE READING
blinded
Poetryshe was blinded by his perfection. he was too blind to realise. ☁ [copyright simile-, two thousand and fourteen] #140 in Poetry | #904 in Romance
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i wake up alone
with cold hands in the morning.
if only there
was someone here
to warm them.