The room feels so much emptier when you leave
I watch the sky change from pitch to periwinkle as the clock ticks past minute after minute like a warning
Your voice fills my ears and I can feel my mind wander into its own periwinkle shade of "what ifs" and "some days"
I must remind myself that with each passing day I'm closer to feeling your fingertips gracing my own
It's painful
the waiting
I never asked for easy, though.
YOU ARE READING
•Mind on Paper•
PoetryThis is going to be a collection of late night thoughts and spurs of inspiration for your viewing pleasure. Some of these could be happy, sad, melancholic, and much more. My brain is the brush, the paper, or in this case the screen is my canvas. I...
