fine line, ʜᴀʀʀʏ ꜱᴛʏʟᴇꜱ, 04:17
the bubbles duplicate,
sealing my fate;
i find myself rewriting
on the calendar your birthdate.
memories visit me more nowadays,
and i've missed you, more than i'd like to say.
but there's no hurt left in my heart,
and it's nice to see your smile beam my way.
why rekindle dead ashes?
let's start a new fire.
we'll repaint what the rain washes,
see what needs to be rewired.
welcome back, paladin,
how have you been?
from the start, again, we'll begin,
there are still battles for us to win.
take my hand, it will be alright,
i will gladly rejoin your fight.
this, i promise, so hold on tight;
we'll be telling a new story tonight.
i think it's time to write a new narrative,
about how and when you decide not to leave.
YOU ARE READING
[14] - monday's child.
Poetry𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘴. original poetry i wrote at fourteen.