in this water, nothing flows.
around these parts, the shallow winds carry traces of me.
i don't want to stay behind. it's too cold back here, by myself.
i don't want to wait up. it's late and i am growing more tired by the passing minute.
behind these walls, boxes of memories i have hidden from you.
maybe i hid them from myself. either way, let's not look.
like a cup of coffee, still too hot to take a sip,
like a familiar song playing in an unfamiliar place,
like when they make an unexpected concession for you
just because they knew you'd be pleasantly surprised. full.
it feels... well, you know.
Sep 11, 2024
Sep 11, 2024 at 6:48 PM UTC
in this water, nothing flows.
around these parts, the shallow winds carry traces of me.
i don't want to stay behind. it's too cold back here, by myself.
i don't want to wait up. it's late and i am growing more tired by the passing minute.
behind these walls, boxes of memories i have hidden from you.
maybe i hid them from myself. either way, let's not look.
like a cup of coffee, still too hot to take a sip,
like a familiar song playing in an unfamiliar place,
like when they make an unexpected concession for you
just because they knew you'd be pleasantly surprised. full.
it feels... well, you know.
09/11/2024
Request permission to use this poem