flowers bloom more in the cemetery than in the vases on my window sill.
YOU ARE READING
Burning Home
Poesia[ a poetry collection about grieving and becoming. ] I wish for the day when flowers no longer sink in water. When their eyes gaze not ignominy but proud; even dust can be seen as gold. And exhaustion feels rewarding.
in my absense, you began to care
flowers bloom more in the cemetery than in the vases on my window sill.
