When you're young everything is beautiful.
The city lights, the sunset, that hill up the street, the gleam off of your glasses.
We wait for it, as the bus slows to a halt climbing aboard.
As you get older the beauty dies and fight to rekindle lost dreams gets thinner.
Just like books the ending gets near and the pages thin.
YOU ARE READING
Undressing Our Love
PoesíaI don't know honestly, I just started writing and wanted to share it.
