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Poetry

And the flowers that he grew in my lungs turned to wilted flowers, making it harder to breathe. And then the rain made them bloom again.

That afternoon.

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by newromanticcs

by newromanticcs

Afternoon. Riding shotgun. Your friend laughing in the back. My trembling hands.

Afternoon. Drinking iced tea. Your friend speaking fluent German. My nervous gaze.

Afternoon. Soccer game. My red shirt. Your white shirt. My shaking lips.

Afternoon. College stories. My hair up in a ponytail. Your friends laughing.