I was walking in the rain and I remembered you.
I remembered seeing your small, delicate but not fragile figure standing there, in the middle of the road, eyes closed and arms around your body, as if you were trying to shield yourself from the outer world, from all the pain and hurt and cruelty and cold that just shatters your soul.
You were cold. I know you were freezing. I could see it in your oh so pretty grey eyes that were dull and screamed nothing but egony and broken.
I watched you for a minute and then I went away. I couldn't see you dying in front of me while I could do nothing but stare in those eyes. Those lifeless, dying eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Letters for her
PoetryThis is just my diary. A diary of a meaningless person with a meaningless life... Except for her, the girl I want to love so bad, yet I can't. Because she is art and art isn't meant to be loved. It's meant to be adored... Because, what really is art...
