Some days when we had misunderstandings,
When I hadn't seen your half smiles, felt your touch, and received chats,
I would cry and beg the Saints to let the day slip away, fast.
Thereafter, I would crawl under my blankets, and start repeating in my head,
He loves me,
He loves me not, not.
Sometimes, I wish we spoke in rose's petals rather than its thorns.
Maybe then, we wouldn't have misunderstood each other.
YOU ARE READING
a certain slant of light | completed;
Short Storypeople will always tell that there are tons of horrors in the dark, yet you braved to love my shadows. april 2020 © reichelle torres
