I keep looking at that blanket. The one that stays on my bed, the one that you used to steal during cold nights and throw off when nights are warm. Its huge. Bigger than you or I. It's been an adhesive over our warm bodies, keeping us in its welcome embrace, encouraging our affection. I welcome it, more than I welcome you. But lately, when I look upon this blanket, I'm saddened.
YOU ARE READING
Just A Broken Thing
PoetryThese are the thoughts and feelings that go through the mind of a young, broken girl. She doesn't make sense and doesn't expect you to make any out of it.
