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vea-ventsPoems
I'm ready to part with this piece of you I've hold onto so tight Imprints on my hand that have comforted and held me for years Deep etchings carved over time, where once sat care, now filled with scars You were carved so deep, I thought you'd remain I loved you as much as I could As much as I could carry and was capable of As much as my cold hands could keep the warmth between them I thought I knew you when we cried between the sheets Two lonely halves, somehow forming a whole A love, I had not felt before I thought I knew you You and I, I and you We came together, I thought I knew... You used to feel like home Like a soft bed, I could sink into, without remorse But now, I know, there's no other way I cannot cling nor stay, For two lonely parts, never make a whole And two lonely parts, fail to make a home You and I, I and you Forever, we remain, separate, just as we met Strangers, torn into two Still lonely, and lost, unknowing, and new.
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Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
Goodbye
I'm ready to part with this piece of you I've hold onto so tight Imprints on my hand that have comforted and held me for years Deep etchings carved over time, where once sat care, now filled with scars You were carved so deep, I thought you'd remain I loved you as much as I could As much as I could carry and was capable of As much as my cold hands could keep the warmth between them I thought I knew you when we cried between the sheets Two lonely halves, somehow forming a whole A love, I had not felt before I thought I knew you You and I, I and you We came together, I thought I knew... You used to feel like home Like a soft bed, I could sink into, without remorse But now, I know, there's no other way I cannot cling nor stay, For two lonely parts, never make a whole And two lonely parts, fail to make a home You and I, I and you Forever, we remain, separate, just as we met Strangers, torn into two Still lonely, and lost, unknowing, and new.
Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings. — Anaïs Nin
#love#lost#loneliness#breakup#disconnection#separation
vea-vents
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vea-vents
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
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