Two pieces of pottery lay vacant.
I’ve left them to dry too long,
perhaps on purpose.
With each passing day collecting dust.
Sometimes they call me,
beg me to retrieve what once was mine.
But with each passing day I still don’t trust myself to move on,
too scared to pick it up and hold it my hands for fear that I may just collapse back into your arms.
Dec 13, 2024
Dec 13, 2024 at 3:12 PM UTC
Two pieces of pottery lay vacant.
I’ve left them to dry too long,
perhaps on purpose.
With each passing day collecting dust.
Sometimes they call me,
beg me to retrieve what once was mine.
But with each passing day I still don’t trust myself to move on,
too scared to pick it up and hold it my hands for fear that I may just collapse back into your arms.