When I was younger, I was scared of the dark.
Of the scratching in the corners, the monsters creeping through the chaos.
Now I'm older and I welcome the silken blindfold across my eyelids.
The dead silence so heavy even my own breathing feels unreal.
~October.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
PoetryHireath: (n) A homesickness for a home you can't return to, or that never was. For the home I haven't yet returned to. ***************************** A book of poems and the occasional response to writing prompts. Or both. My es...
