every morning, I see you at the coffee shop. as I read about the newest disaster in a place I've never even heard of, you buy her green tea, and you buy yourself a coffee, black. if you talked to me, I would tell you about the wonderful things I have noticed about you, like the way your eyes have flecks of gold amongst the blue abyss, or the way you smell like cinnamon mixed with her cheap perfume. if you asked me, I would tell you those things, but you won't, since you love her.
YOU ARE READING
SOFTIE
Poetrysure, my heart is fragile, but my mind is strong. sure, I talk quietly, but I will stand for what I think is right. sure, I'm a softie, but there's bravery in being soft.
