She stood there on the cliff with the suicide note in her hand,
feeling the wind in her hair.
Yet with every passing breeze which soothed her aching heart,
she felt his presence beside him there.
YOU ARE READING
Dead Ends
PoetrySometimes it's not about the end. It's just about the story. A collection of four liners that I wrote which didn't have the oh-so-perfect endings. Well because life doesn't offer each and everyone the fairytale endings they grew up listening to.
