When I think
It has passed
someone's different
someone's changed
I remember
still going on
but just a different
girl
YOU ARE READING
Are Loving: Present Progressive
PoetryWith her fingertips, she traced the smooth, darkened skin under his eyes. "Eyebags," she noted. "I've been thinking," he murmured, "of you. The shadow of my thoughts is the ink which stains them." She paused and gazed right into those distant...
