I heard your voice after a long time, it sounded harsh.
Was it the weather?
Or maybe because it was me on the other line.
All I had to do was deliver the news of death,
Yet, I found myself asking how you were.
But it no longer held the warmth.
You were a stranger now.
The line cut.
The beeps rang in the chilly air.
Maybe it was the cold weather?
Or maybe our cold voices.
You couldn't hear me properly and I didn't try.
For maybe if you heard it any better you would've discovered my voice not matching your distant one.
Or maybe, the unwilling warmth slipping through my end despite the absence of yours.
YOU ARE READING
not a poetess, just heartbroken
PoetryIt is a collection of poems by a writer, not a poetess. Sometimes, tears and pain make you do things you wouldn't usually do. For me, it was writing poems in the form of questions I wish I could ask them. But I can't, so I hope, dear reader, you fin...
