she used to be a lot.
she used to mean a lot.
now she's not.
she's not happy and she's not sad.
she's not here and she's not there.
but... was she even in this world when she was with us?
it is hard to start thinking in past and it is hard to look back.
at some way, i look at my memories every time,
wanting the insomnia i have in my head to come back,
to explain things to me and make me understand,
even though i know it is not possible.
miracles don't happen twice,
and that's why insomnia is gone.
YOU ARE READING
insomnia.
Random«her name was insomnia, and she was the greatest metaphor a poet has ever written.»
