Long talks.
Hallway walks.
Never
Without
Him.
Cold hands.
Warmed by him.
Chilly breeze
Sheltered by him.
Cold stands no chance.
Maybe he's just being friendly.
Messing with my head unintentionally.
Or maybe it's love.
Preposterous.
Never.
He has her.
How can I compete?
YOU ARE READING
That Boy
PoetryThis is the first ongoing compilation story/poem piece of writing. Let's see how it goes. Luna Elvenfleur