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It's moments like this, when I'm walking at midnight through the avenues of a city that never sleeps, past all these trees, lined roads and lit up apartments. I bet that behind one of those windows, two lovers are having an intense argument, but they stop when he grabs her face and kisses her. In the one next to it, a girl is writing poetry, with swollen and red eyes because someone stole her sleep. We're not alone in this word, you know? And it's so fascinating when you understand how many of us are out here, and how most of us will never even meet.
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YOU ARE READING
Recalling His Name
PoetryThis is going to be pages full of 3 AM thoughts or pure poetry, because we've all had our thoughts tangled up, and we've all had our hearts shattered in enough pieces to make us write about it. Everything you read in here is written by the publisher.
