Two years and just like that
in my head, I am still a child.
I often wonder if I can miss
something that was never truly mine.
And in my dreams too, I still see myself
a child; merely fifteen,
running through the halls,
just like the girl I was meant to be,
still in my old house.
I left it two years ago,
yet the bitter taste of forgotten love
lies on the tip of my tongue.
I taste sweetness in it too;
all that never was,
but all that could have been.
My new house is so different,
so unfamiliar.
And the ghosts I left behind
don't turn to haunt me anymore
(is this the beauty of this forgotten love?)
Two years, and just like that,
in my head I still reside there.
And I wonder and I wonder,
how could I ever miss something
that was never truly mine?
YOU ARE READING
Before It Turns Grey
PoetryAnd through all of this, I've just been trying to know who I really am. To come to terms with heartbreak. To bleed, and to cry, and to learn, and to grow. Before It Turns Grey is a journey, more than it is a poetry collection. It is a voyage of gro...
