dear oliver,
“quinn, i want to see him.”
you whispered as you traced
the edges of my smile.
we lay together as the heart
monitor beeped from your side.
it reminded me that you’re still
here, your heart is still beating,
yet there is a reason as to why
we can hear your heart beat.
he’s gonna die, sweetheart.
quinn
YOU ARE READING
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PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
