I miss knowing you would be there.
Even if you weren't really there,
I got to imagine you were.
And know that you would be.
Now, I don't know if you would be.
So who is there left to imagine?
YOU ARE READING
A Tired Mother named God.
PoetryA collection of poems for God, the universe and whoever else is listening.
A breakup with God
I miss knowing you would be there.
Even if you weren't really there,
I got to imagine you were.
And know that you would be.
Now, I don't know if you would be.
So who is there left to imagine?
