"I must ask," her mom begins
"how did you know she was sick? I didn't even know?"
I sigh
"The little things I guess.
It was the way she scratched at her wrist when she did something wrong.
It was the way she stopped laughing at my jokes.
The way she never wanted to even hum along to her favorite songs.
The little things."
It was actually quite obvious.
But only to the people
in love with her.
- j.z.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting on the Good. Living in the Bad.
PoetryAll poems in this were written by me. If you use one to quote or make an edit, please give me credit. They're not all good honestly, some of them are pretty bad, but I'll post them anyways. Thanks to anyone who takes the time to read these and gives...
