Memories of Promises
Could you still recall what you said to me—
the future you promised me we'd be:
Friday nights and Sunday Mornings
Winter coffee and Summer ice creams
Day off dates and Noon break calls
Christmas trips and Midnight cuddles?
But off they go, gone with the wind
drifting miles away from both our reach
fading so fast for both of us to see
instead of future, they all became a memory
YOU ARE READING
Metaphors Beneath the Riptides
Poetry"Your I-love-you was like a scribble in a sand- At first it was there then next it was not" Metaphors beneath the Riptides An Anthology By Eos Pleuvoir 2020 Cover Made with Canva
