Not to be tied, but to be shared.
November Rain Challenge (unofficial)
Cuffing season has come at last.
Yet, my bed is still lonesome.
The cold air's a stark reminder.
"Lacking love means to lack warmth."
I'll wait, upon this wooden bench.
Knowing you'll come, sharing our lives.
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I want to grow
I want to grow and I’m going to grow. I’m not going to be this version of myself anymore and you won’t know who I become. You won’t talk to her, or be by her side as she goes through life— you won’t know her. Her heart won’t even remember the small moments that’ve clung to it for so long. I’ll watch her embrace a new life that has nothing to do with you, and there won’t be a space waiting like there has been for far too long.
By Aathavi Thanges3 days ago in Psyche
Comments (1)
Lacking love means to lack warmth. In what way? Loved your poem!