The moment has already passed
And I'm desperately trying to reclaim it.
But it's too late, this is what I whisper to myself repeatedly.
Too late.
I can't seem to remember the details, was the water a deeper shade of blue? Or was it gleaming with the reflections of the fading sun?
What color was the sky? Was it still the crystal blue that had followed me throughout the day? Or had the colors already overtaken the clouds and submerged me in a painting of its own design?
I can't remember, it's too late.
My thoughts are jumbled and I can't seem to recall if the right song was playing or if I had mistaken it for nature's melancholic melody.
Too caught up in the moment, I forgot to enjoy it.
Or did I?
I can't seem remember.
I guess I'll string my thoughts and paint a memory of what I think was, and what I find to be better.
And I'll let my brush find the colors in my descriptions as I tell you how I enjoyed the moment where I found joy.
Which I like to think I did.
But I'm not sure.
YOU ARE READING
A Book of Words That Never Seem To Be Enough
PoetryA book filled with words that I thought made sense, but they never seem to be enough. *warning* emotional, messy, raw and full of sadness (sometimes a little happiness here and there) I hope you give my words a chance, maybe they'll be enough for yo...
