I thought of him while I picked out my outfit, as if he was sewn in the fabric of my clothes.
I thought of him while I ate my meals, as if he was the calories I consumed.
I thought of him while I listened to my songs of escape, as if he was the one singing.
I thought of him while I tidied up, as if he was the dust on my furniture.
I thought of him while I tried to fall asleep, as if he was my lullaby.
I thought of him always, even when he wasn't mine to begin with.
YOU ARE READING
Eunoia
PoetryBehind every poem is a story too afraid to be told bluntly. . . . I intend to write to make you feel.
