Every time he touched me,
even when it was just his fingertips brushing against the back of my hand,
I couldn't wait to run home and decorate the pages of a notebook with the feelings he gave me.
I wanted to remember forever,
even though I thought there was no way I could forget.
But I am forgetting,
and those feelings are now distant memories.
Some days I forget what he looks like,
the way he said my name.
Other days,
I yearn to rekindle the flame we once sparked.
I spend hours wondering if we think of each other at the same time,
if he shared the need to capture every encounter we had.
I'll never know.
He'll never know.
YOU ARE READING
I'm Not Sad Anymore
PoesíaThis book of poetry describes the causes of a heartbreak one sentence at a time, the story leading up to it, with no intention of description. No need for the whole story. No need to point fingers, nor to point blame. Just words, that will possibly...
