you are so close.
and yet.
when i reach to brush your hair out of your eyes.
my fingers go through you.
as though you are a ghost.
as though you are not here.
(why aren't you?)
YOU ARE READING
the coldness inside
Randomsometimes, when the night is cold, the moon is sad, and the wind sings its hollow tune, i think of you. a book of lonely thoughts.
thirteen
you are so close.
and yet.
when i reach to brush your hair out of your eyes.
my fingers go through you.
as though you are a ghost.
as though you are not here.
(why aren't you?)
