Who have wild flowers growing in their rib cage,
And trees under their skin.
The way he spins thoughts into words,
Which he weaves into stories,
That you can wrap yourself in.
Pull them a little closer,
And savour the way they touch you.
Don’t tell me there’s no magic in the world.
Anyone can find death and sadness,
The world is soaked to the core in it.
I want to find magic;
It’s much harder to find,
And even harder to hold onto.
There’s a sadness I can’t shake.
It sits in my bones,
And each breath aches.
Amongst dreams about tattoos of spiders and crows, he crept in even there. And when I said “it’s what he always wanted.” I knew the words were true even though they burnt my heart. And I realised, as I wrote out my dream, that when I found peace in those words, I would probably find the happiness for them as well. Then I’d be able to finally let him go.
Otherwise the night is too dark
Romance fiction blog with heart
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ink of love in fire - design is my desire
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Your mind is a garden, your thoughts are seeds. You can grow flowers or you can grow weeds.
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Blog de Julie Sopetrán. Poesía para niños y adultos.
Good poetry is like a dessert you just can't put down
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Poetry, Fiction and Art