She lives in the sounds of moving cars
And dead leaves in the wind.
She dies when it rains in the summer
And she reborns again in the sun.
But she is never here
Not really.
She is there, always there.
Not here.
Never here.
YOU ARE READING
After He Left
PoetryAfter you left, I wrote you poems that you'll never get to read. Now you're still gone and I'm still writing the words you never got to hear. -------------- The poems are somehow connected, although they can be read alone. This book was actually in...
