Dear Diary.
It has been 4 years.
I try to tell myself that this is what she would have wanted
but when I try to picture her, all that I see is
A girl smiling down
A child running, the wind flowing through
A teen screaming that she doesn't want to
at the shell sinking in the pebble beach, and
the hair that she couldn't
live like this any more, and it
cradling it in her clammy hands.
quite look after, which frayed at the ends.
was suffocating, that I was suffocating, that I was -
Sometimes, I can't see her at all.
And I don't know if that's a good or bad thing anymore.
- Martha.
YOU ARE READING
Seashell
PoetryA collection of poems with the connection to the same Seashell. Could this just be a coincidence, or is there a bigger tale to be told? All of these poems are my original work and should not be re-used without my consent. If you want to edit them fo...
