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Years and years keep you buried among my thoughts. You were my figure 8, twisting and turning in and out of me. Should I be used to this? We feel opposite, we felt fulfilled with your head on my chest. I could remember if I wanted to, but who says I do? It might be too late and I feel no hope in rekindling our fire, even though the flame was cold most days. Oh how autumn like you were, beginning of October, weren't you sick with grief? You watched me fall far away. I wish I could tell you that I can't feel, but instead I'll pretend. Instead I'll hold back. |
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dimcitylights's journal