You're fragile, like the ripping pages of my journal, the stitching keeps undoing itself and the tears stair mixed with the tea blots and coffee rings.
The corners are smudged with lipstick and the paper distinctively smells of you and your cologne.
I know I can't let you go. Not in person, not in memories, not at all.
You're fragile like the ripping pages of my journal.
I let the ink run off the page, I let the ink run.
There was nothing important to read anyways.
I let the fragile ink pages rip.
YOU ARE READING
Words.
PoetryTo be completely honest, it's just a load of randomly plucked words from the air, infused together with some punctuation and their job is to represent the bunch of emotion I, - a tired, caffeine filled, late night worker- threw together in hopes tha...
