For one day I felt butterflies,
And for once I didn't tell lies.
I felt new and even a little shiny
I felt tall when I'd usually be tiny.
That one day made me shy
With a smile, a laugh and a sigh.
My thoughts were like glitter
Pure, clean and not bitter.
Any other day, I'd be sad
I'd look at myself and see only bad.
But it didn't take you long,
To make me wonder if I'm wrong.
Honestly you didn't do much
But I felt warmed by your touch.
I was enamoured by all you had to say.
But now I must face that it was only one day.
YOU ARE READING
Lachrymose
PoetryLachrymose /ˈlakrɪməʊs,ˈlakrɪməʊz/ adjective tearful or given to weeping. A collection of amateur prose and poetry illustrating the inner turmoil. Mainly a dumping ground for loose thoughts and ideas to be interpreted in whatever manner.
