Sun beams into the chair
you used to sit in every Sunday.
The grey carpet is so dusty now
eversince you went away.
I thought I was over it.
Over the fact that I wouldn't see your face no more.
But I guess I am not, as I
knocked on your yellow door yesterday
with the thought to visit you.
Now in this cold I know I am not okay
without your soul loving me.
YOU ARE READING
Ashes to ashes
PoetryA collection of short poems about being a teenager in the modern world, losing parts of yourself to others and loving some with every cell in your body, realizing that sometimes you change but that doesn't mean the world changes too.
