Jan 8, 2025
weird that we come back to writing in the sour hour
here I am two years later
you never knew her presence, her soft hand never touched these pages. I stopped writing because it stopped hurting
he came like a sweet potion that dissolved the pain
like water from the sea cleaning my soul
like sun light through the curtains in the cold morning
like a warm tea cleaning my throath
and here we are again
pained
and because of her too
I didn't write because I wasn't in pain
but the pain killer killed me
maybe I was the pain all along
