How many times could I have done this, infinite.
To brush your tears when you thought of your mom.
To hold your hand as we walked the aisles of the grocery store.
To watch your face light up when you saw something you loved.
To see how deeply you cared for those around you.
Infinite turned finite.
Now I don't know what you cry about,
Or what cereal you pick up at the store.
I don't know what things are bringing you joy,
Or who is close to your heart.
.
.
.
This one is a bit sad, oops
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Her
PoetryHer. She is the first girl that stole your breath and broke your heart. She is the girl at the bookstore humming to herself in the aisles. She is the girl who inked poetry into the margines of her notebooks. She is each girl you fall for, each gi...
