I remember when you first moved
We would call every day
But now I'm in dismay
I feel like I've been removed
How can a person be busy every day
For two straight years
You've given no tears
Why does this seem so cliche?
Remember that picture we painted
The one we made the day you moved
With our two hands just barely touching
They were connected back then
But now...
Maybe we predicted the future
But I guess life goes on
Friends drift apart
People try and restart
Still I hope to meet you at the rising dawn
YOU ARE READING
A poem a day
PoetryI'm writing one poem, every day. I'm actually writing them in a notebook, so I may not update every day. Just random freestyle poems.
