now i'm nothing but a postcard,
speaking of how I wish you were here.
'cause instead of begging you not to go,
i counted your footsteps as they disappeared.
YOU ARE READING
This Book is Probably About You.
PoetryHis eyes are the perfect poem, i'll spend forever trying to write. On an endless search for adjectives, to capture them just right. I could try to write their meaning, but I think you'd fail to understand. 'Cause nothing quite that beautiful could b...
