They miss it every time
The flash of hurt,
Of pain, of grief, of love
That passes through my eyes
At every mention of you
Time has passed,
But the ache is fresh.
Still an open wound,
The only cure
Is you who carved it.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts of Him(s)
PoetryI miss him(s). Here's how I feel about it. All works here are my own.
