each moment that you do not miss me
stretches
into an eternity
of lifetimes upon lifetimes
lived
learning to die
painfully, intimately
acquainted
with grief
only when you think of me again
can i
finally
breathe easy
But words are things, and a small drop of ink falling like dew, upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think... ~Lord Byron
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home