The first time I met you ,
Your eyes glinted ,
That pulled me into you.
The white roses on your callous hands ,
Was enough to make me weak in my knees.
We walked through the rushed streets ,
With silence filled within us.
The silence that felt like home.
Years later ,
Our eyes met again,
In my home.
The verandah had several pots ,
Most of them was white roses ,
as the Ones that you bought.
We stood in silence ,
It didn't felt like home ,
We were just two people with a lot of unsaid memories.
YOU ARE READING
Gravestones of survival.
Poetry~People often misunderstand my gravestones of survivals into piece of art.~ Random pieces of poetry.
