The sunsets are beautiful again, and I finally hear the birds chirping outside of my window.
The rain doesn't seem so melancholy anymore, it's like how it used to be when I was a kid.
Like a soft spoken poem.
I remembered to look up at the stars the other night, and the way they shine down upon us felt familiar.
A good familiar, and suddenly I didn't want to stop staring up at them.
The wind, strong with springs force, felt as if it was going to pick me up and teach me to fly.
Nature is talking.
Do you hear it too?
YOU ARE READING
2:00 A.M.
PoetryThe moons out, I have a pen in hand. I wish I were writing the stars down by name, but these are only thoughts. Thoughts I like to call poems. ⭐
