After all this time
I am wandering back home.
A place where faces are familiar
but everything else is not.
I spell my name in broken letters
as I walk towards what's left behind.
The letters keep slipping and I am forgetting what I am called.
This home, this time, is a different place
and there's only one thing left.
I am walking towards a building
That I heard people call nostalgia.
YOU ARE READING
The answers that aren't true
PoetryJust a few poems and such about my life how I'm feeling and what I'm going through. Unless stated with ~broken angel, the poems aren't mine I only found them online. *TRIGGER WARNING*
