You were here.
Your dishes are in the sink
Unwashed, like you always leave them
A coffee cup, grey with a white handle
The one you always use
Without even a sip, the flavour ghosts on my tongue
Strong, sweet, and black
Though now cold, I know it was scalding
The way you always liked it
Your scent still lingers on my couch
A wave of sweetness with an underlying dark note
Just like you
*But it was the one I always loved
I haven't written in ages and I was inspired by a ******* bin....... go figure.
and i have never really understood why i hate luggage.
why i barely own handbags,
and would much rather fit the necessities in my purse.
why school didn't seem so bad if i had less books on my back.
i had never really understood why i hated so much baggage.
until i realised that it was because i already had all of me,
It is not love that hurts.
It is our idea of what love should be like
compared to the love that we have.
It is not love that hurts,
but the absence of it especially when we need it most that hurts.
feels like death
in your chest
yet nothing spilled
living in hell