Friday
Every day, I wonder why I didn't chase after you. I wonder why I did
nothing but watch as your figure—beautiful and flawed as it is—
got smaller and smaller, until it disappeared. I wonder
what we would've been if I had just reached out
and grabbed your hand. Every day, I wonder
what we would've been if I had just
said something when you
turned around,
one last time.
I wonder
where
you
are
now.
Are you wondering, too?
YOU ARE READING
Post Meridiem
PoetryI'd do anything to save myself. Hell, I'd even change the world.
