My soul echoed in the corners of my room as it laid down under blankets that knew it better than I did. It hid behind curtains every morning, and bathed in moonlight every night. It called out to the empty and stayed quiet in the chaos. It looked ugly in perfect and beautiful in scarred. My soul flied crazy, across clouds and rested between stars.
And with that, I knew it didn't belong in the ordinary.
C❤️
YOU ARE READING
The Writer and Her Twilight
PoetryA prose and poetry collection where twilight becomes your blanket to hide that you cry.
