there's a quiet meadow near my house where i used to roam,
with withering plants, abandoned fields, i was coming home,
but i stumbled on the path, dropped to the road,
bleeding, scathing knees, too many scars,
i saw your face, your arms embraced,
me, why are you collecting the pieces you never broke,
is it you, home?
and you'll probably never know how it feels, when your wishes come true,
but its the way i feel, everytime i look at you,
and i've stopped bleeding ever since your skin touched mine,
i crave your warmth, the sun in my life,
and wherever i go, its you i find,
down the busy streets, quiet meadows,
i dream of you, i dreamt you,
we're in spring, sunshine.
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/337361144-288-k270388.jpg)
YOU ARE READING
What if
PoetryKnew you'd haunt all of my what ifs . . . . A poetry book filled with agony and blinding pain, or can I just call it love?