Dear you,
I hope this never gets to you.
I hope you never read this.
Yet I hope you do.
The rain that falls on my face, warm, gentle, reminds me of you.
Your hand caressing my cheek when you think I am asleep.
My dear. You are gone. But never forgotten.
Not dead, but long gone.
And I'm glad for it.
YOU ARE READING
Coffee and Ink Stains
Poetrythis one's for the dreamers, the wild ones, the imperfect.
