I thought of you again last night,
And asked the Moon how you were
Since it watches you sleep through your window.
I asked if you smiled,
And if so, what caused that beautiful curve across your lips
I asked if you were busy,
Or if you still visited at 2 a.m.
Thinking of me
Like I was thinking of you
It shined down at me in all my insignificance.
I need to stop talking to myself.
-Autumn
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...
