I miss him. The colour of his lips and the shape of his shoulders and the warmth of his hands, I miss him and I wish he was here I wish I could hold him for ever and disappear. I wish I could write like him, his poetry is seeped in rhythm and feels like music, just like he does. I wish this was poetic. I wish the world would always be kind to him and keep him safe. I wish that among all his lights and laughter and songs he would remember me, and even for a moment, miss me too. That is enough. For now. For tonight.
VOUS LISEZ
Arcadia
PoésieSpilled thoughts, letters from no one, stories of another time, another place. - || H.R. : #50 in Poetry ||
