she plays with the remnants of the cotton
like how she plays with the core of your soul
she sticks her tongue out in concentration
she stitches the cotton into a new ball
she likes to create a new form out of an old unusable
like something that she can't do to herself at all
YOU ARE READING
tiny broken pieces and a faint memory of you
Poetryyou left, and tiny broken pieces and a faint memory of you is what's left of me. cover by @babyblue997
