When there are no words left,
Read the story around me.
Because I can feel where you’ve been
And the moments you hide in each word.
But you don’t like being seen.
Like a spectre you wish to haunt my walls
And leave without the faintest sign,
Reappearing when you want to be held.
But how can I be okay with ghosts?
I can never reach out and feel if you’re real
Because when I think I feel you,
You’re gone before I can even grasp the air.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 7:22 PM UTC
When there are no words left,
Read the story around me.
Because I can feel where you’ve been
And the moments you hide in each word.
But you don’t like being seen.
Like a spectre you wish to haunt my walls
And leave without the faintest sign,
Reappearing when you want to be held.
But how can I be okay with ghosts?
I can never reach out and feel if you’re real
Because when I think I feel you,
You’re gone before I can even grasp the air.
Request permission to use this poem