you were a scatter of light
in my world of darkness

you pulled me in
with your dark brown eyes

your voice echoed
through me for days

i want to be yours
i want you to be mine

My old poems are like a diary.
I reread them and they take me back
to a me that I can barely remember.
But it was me.
My old poems are my past.
They are my memories,
my pain,
my love.
My old poems are still a part of me.
Those memories are still a part of me,
even though sometimes
*I like to pretend they are not.

When you miss someone
The amount of time they are away shouldn't matter
You miss them the same on the last minute of their absence as you did on the very first moment they left your sight