Dear Diary,
I miss how it used to be
Before it became just used to be
The enjoyment we'd have over the tiniest things
Our midnight phone calls and the continuous rings
Sharing secrets and baring our souls
Late night dancing around the telephone poles
Tears of laughter and tears of hurt
Always wearing my favorite shirt
But I think what I miss most
Is not me
Is not you
But how it used to be
YOU ARE READING
Letters From The Unhealed - POETRY
PoetryLetters to the ones I love, the ones I used to love, and the ones I haven't loved yet. From an unhealed soul. Letters from the Unhealed explores my personal young adult journey through poetry. Ever since the day I turned 18 the world seemed to hav...
