The version of me who loved you so is lost in a different time in this universe. You probably still have her, she probably still loves you.
She's probably there on the same corner of the bed, laughing, and madly loving you. She's probably staring at you in the most innocent way— like she won't shatter, like you will never break her.
She's probably still your person. But she isn't me anymore. This version of me now is no longer her. This version of me left the version you know in a different reality.
She's your one who got away, and she can never be found again.
And it's not me,
she's not me.
Anymore.
YOU ARE READING
POETRY THAT STAYS
PoetryYou don't really love someone, not until they become the person behind of your poetries. When poetry speaks, it echoes through your soul, lingers in your heart, and dances in your dreams. And... it stays. I wrote poems enough for people to ask, "w...
