Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2017
A boy on the train ran his fingers through his hair in the same way you used to. It was nice to remember... and then it wasn't.
Why the **** do i still find pieces of you in the smallest of things?
Brianna
Written by
Brianna  Australia
(Australia)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems