And so she lives,
but not without the guilt.
He doesn't know,
He can't know
And she hates him for that.
But soon they grow together,
Like thin green ropes of poison ivy.
So toxic, but so beautiful.
And she tells him, and she cries out all the words trapped inside her throat.
And he lets her grieve for something he'll never quite understand.
YOU ARE READING
Goodbye, Pastel
PoetryI wonder is you can feel it too- The discrete pockets of sunlight Slipping through on dreary days; It warms my skin and fuels my smile. I'll keep the garden, After all. {Sequel to Fake Flowers}
