in the gaps that we leave between our conversations, words gather.
they crowd and jostle to find their place. some never make it to you at all.
the gaps will get longer, and your absence will grow more profound.
my words will gather, then eventually they'll fade away.
I will write letters to you in my head
but never post a thing.
they crowd and jostle to find their place. some never make it to you at all.
the gaps will get longer, and your absence will grow more profound.
my words will gather, then eventually they'll fade away.
I will write letters to you in my head
but never post a thing.
2 comments:
But you did.
Not for me, I'd like to believe. People turn into photographs.
Some photos remain. Words gathered. Let them.
In some universe, they'd have been a novel.
One has novels written in their head.
And every moment adds a section. Lifelong project, I guess.
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