They say every sunrise brings a new day. A chance for better things. New beginnings. A fresh start. But what they don't say is that the night brings quiet introspection. Reflection. Regret.
The night brings old habits that die hard or can never seem to die at all. It brings memories resurfacing to fill the void of silence between your ears. Thoughts that fill your heart with sorrow and your eyes with tears you can't quite weep.
And every night, lying there, clinging to a piece of someone I know will have slipped from my grasp by morning. Lying there, gazing into the inky nothingness until every shape and shadow feels like a memory I've forgotten that's trying to resurface. Lying there, feeling safety only from blankets which cradle me, and yet remind me of how empty the bed really feels. Waiting, staring, remembering. When will it end?
Then just like that, the sun begins to rise once more and fill my room with it's golden glow of light. It's gleeful promise of a better day covering my eyelids as it blinks me awake. Awake from a dream. A dream conceived of a far better reality than the one the sun casts its light upon. A dream of remembering better days, imagining the what-ifs and the never wills.
A dream of us, forever.
But now, I am awake. And the dream is over.
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Poems of a Broken Man
PoetryHere you will find short examples of poetry, from me, a broken man. I'm not as broken as others, but as a writer, one of the most creative and vulnerable things you can be is broken. If you have one take away from these, please make it this; Check u...
