The me that you so dearly loved,
Died not six months ago,
She blew away on a summer breeze,
And you realised all too slow,
So when you went to turn around,
And beg her not to go,
She'd vanished into wistfulness,
And I was left hollow
YOU ARE READING
Whatever...
PuisiI hardly ever say 'whatever'. If I do I truly mean it in the sense of 'whatever you say cannot make this better' or 'whatever I say cannot convey what I feel right now'. This is a collection of short poems detailing the thoughts and feelings behind...
