She was music
She was the sound the cold wind would make saying ‘hello, did you miss me?’ on cloudy mornings
She was the soft playing of the guitar
The laugh of the children running unworried about the problems of life, because they didn't have any
She was the rain
She was the little dropped tears falling down the window at midnight
The thunderstorms that scared her when she was alone
The evil lightning on the sky
She was the letters
Every each one she ever wrote
Every word plastered on the paper
And the meaning behind it too
She was the pain and the smile of each story
She was all this and a little bit more
The feeling of a warmer heart when kids smiled
The sound of thunderstorms she so claimed to fear but secretly enjoyed listening to it
She was all she repressed on herself
She was everything
And then,
then, she became nothing.
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SPRING » Poetry
Poetry"those fresh wounds will never stop bleeding." a poetry collection 𝖕𝖍𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖊
