I hope
In ten years or in five,
Or even in one
I do not recognize you
Staring back from the mirror
I hope
In some distant future
So far, or so near
We have outgrown the flower pot
Of this small town, and darling,
I am counting the days until
I no longer recognize myself
Because I am you
YOU ARE READING
Abditory
PoésieYou may only move forward once you let go of the past. I find that often, I bury my demons in my writing.
