It’s been two summers and all I could do is to retrace my steps to where I first met you.
I’ve been upturning rocks in the rubble that’s left of you, trying to find remnants of your being breeding with all the dirt and stale air that still carries a scent of you.
In my attempt to reconstruct it all, my hands quiver with the weight of the sharp edged despondency pressing on the void that’s been gathering dust in my insides.
It’s been two summers and all this retracing and reconstructing has been wearing out the spaces you left within this mess of wretched longing and hopelessness.
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
It’s been two summers and all I could do is to retrace my steps to where I first met you.
I’ve been upturning rocks in the rubble that’s left of you, trying to find remnants of your being breeding with all the dirt and stale air that still carries a scent of you.
In my attempt to reconstruct it all, my hands quiver with the weight of the sharp edged despondency pressing on the void that’s been gathering dust in my insides.
It’s been two summers and all this retracing and reconstructing has been wearing out the spaces you left within this mess of wretched longing and hopelessness.
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