I think of what could have been.
The earth we walked upon,
and the flowers that should have grown,
but withered away.
I think of what should have been.
The nights you laid in my arms
and the words we could have spoke,
but chose not to.
I think of you.
I love you.
Or at least,
I think I do.
Jun 18, 2014
Jun 18, 2014 at 10:43 PM UTC
I think of what could have been.
The earth we walked upon,
and the flowers that should have grown,
but withered away.
I think of what should have been.
The nights you laid in my arms
and the words we could have spoke,
but chose not to.
I think of you.
I love you.
Or at least,
I think I do.
