the only thing we are,
the only thing we'll ever really be,
we are two strangers,
who were once inseparable.
YOU ARE READING
letters i couldn't send
Poetrya series of letters, written to my beloved, written to those who wronged me, during the twilight, or when the day is clear and warm, a series of letters, written with my heart on my sleeve, written to them, but written for you to read.
seventy eight
the only thing we are,
the only thing we'll ever really be,
we are two strangers,
who were once inseparable.
