As he walks, trench coat in hand, my feet are stone and I am a new tree; set to capture rays of sun through my branches and feel autumn breezes tickle my leaves.
He walks toward me and I stand still, I stand silent.
I stand to be loved, to be worthy, to be heard.
How he kisses the back of hand and I fall like a feather from a bluebirds wings; weightless and free, I feel the breeze along my cheeks as if he were the wind and I know my lungs work because I'm breathing him in.
YOU ARE READING
humans
Poetry"Being human means constantly trying to find the light." -Kevin Kantor & Sienna Burnett "Phases" (poetry written in form of journal entries)
