He wrote her letters
each day.
She waited & cried herself to sleep each day.
The letters never made it to the destination.
They always ended up crumpled in his dustbin.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Ends
PoetrySometimes it's not about the end. It's just about the story. A collection of four liners that I wrote which didn't have the oh-so-perfect endings. Well because life doesn't offer each and everyone the fairytale endings they grew up listening to.
