I remember birthdays, but whose is on the 24th? An autumn memory of falling leaves onto my head, and he gently took it off as he tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. A careless touch, a caring contact, electric pulses travel through our veins to the love radiating from our skins.
Faceless, yet I remember his voice. The words unsaid are the words said. I could read his eyes, his secrets, but those were the only ones I knew. I remember the warmth, not the look of the hands. I remember he was the sun and I was the moon. We were an eternal eclipse- at least, we used to be. A safe cave or a peaceful home was his arms, strong and protective, along with the scent that felt like heaven.
Home.
He was home. But I lost my way to him. Tell me, where am I now?
24th... whose was it?
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[15/02/18]
YOU ARE READING
Lost Chapters
PoetryI'm sorry I never wrote about you--you were my secret. - [A collection of thoughts I thought were good when I first thought of them: some of others.]
