TWENTY-THREE
nothing more than what we breathe
We are just friends who happen to find
the time to kiss in between staying and going.
Just friends, nothing more, nothing less,
who are still finding their way from underneath
the sheets when day breaks.
There has never been us,
only you and I.
Friends who always
seem to find their way
back to
one
another.
Can you write in cursive?
Yes! I taught myself over the years. My every day handwriting is a weird mix of cursive & printing, lol.
May
YOU ARE READING
𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 ➙ 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘺
PoetryMELANCHOLY | Melancholy drips from my fingertips. Here, I will speak the sadness, the heartache, and the decaying for all the unspoken. Perhaps under this layer of melancholy, the girl I once knew still exists. First poetry collection i...
