I try to heat these cold
memories I haven't
thought about in years.
Some come back to life
while others melt in my hands
before they can breathe again.
I love to collect them
and watch as they span the
path I've walked on.
But if I get too close,
heat from the flames of
my heart will change them.
Even when they become
puddles, I remember:
water holds memories too.
YOU ARE READING
Little Nothings
Poetry***STUNNING COVER by @Repulsify, as commissioned through @InkCommunity 's Artlink Station!*** Things speak to us in different ways. For some, it's a small voice in our minds. For others, it's the things around us, weaving words into succession for s...
