Nothing was the same.
But it was.
The wind blew softly.
And the leaves still began,
To change their colors.
Time continued.
The summers heat,
Was still ripe over our heads.
Nothing change.
But me.
I had changed.
Not physically.
A mask I wore day by day.
For strangers and friends.
As time changed..
No.
Nothing changed.
Because on the inside.
I was still dead,
And dying daily.
YOU ARE READING
She.
PoetryPoetry, scenes and short stories written from the fingertips of a girl who doesn't know her own heart. She's filled each corner with love and light that she thought was pure just to watch it rot off and fill like a gaping dark hole. But these heartb...
