I remember how I touched your cheek with my left fingers,
because my right hand was much too ugly to come in contact with something so beautiful.
you didn't mind;
you had been deprived of such a soft and subtle touch for too long.
but love isn't made up of touch —
it's a picky little thing,
and as delicate as a china doll.
love is made up of
uncanny things,
and I could never understand it;
I could never understand you.
that is why I had to leave you,
even if I didn't want to.
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—lana
YOU ARE READING
Love, Lana ✓
Poesíayou're just a constellation; too far away to truly love, only to admire. » a collection of poems written through a blur of tears, memories, and quiet reverie. copyright @diamondsandsun
