Oh I have thought of you often
Every 21 seconds apparently
It feels like more.
I want someone and
I don't know if it is you,
But I want to
I don't want to shun
Or turn away others,
I do not want to grow into
What they are
(Cold stone shells, encased in glass).
But I have.Because I cannot be so
Whimsical, you can have me
Easily explore me
In any way you want,
Just please
Say something to me
For where there should be music
There is silence.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}