leaving a mark that forever etched itself
between the pages of my life.
Now I flip through other notebooks,
searching for any trace of existence, of remembrance—
knowing it will never happen again.
Not with you,
not with anyone who passes through.
Still, my muscles, bones, mind, and soul
keep wishing—quietly, stubbornly—
that one day,
I’ll find a familiar scribble again,
on a fresh page, a couple of years down.
But this time, it won’t burn—
it will feel like coming home.
But this time, it won’t burn—
it will feel like coming home.
- AZ
No comments:
Post a Comment