he was not my forever, no; even with my little life experience i could tell that. however, he is my present, and as we lie here in the warm sunlight laughing and enjoying the other's company; i think to myself that maybe this isn't so bad.
our hands are tangled together as we lay in the grass, and our other hands point to the clouds drifting above us. a snail, crawling; a flower, blooming; and an eagle, soaring above; all of them made of soft white cotton.
we spend hours there together, sometimes talking and sometimes not. for the most part, we enjoy the other's presence.
YOU ARE READING
the heart of the soul
Poetrypoetry and short stories that i probably wont finish, but i would like to share
