Library
Empty Spaces
Empty Spaces
1 min
6.7K
We resemble withered
Rose petals,
Stories of a golden past
Written all over us.
The backyard still echoes of
Our shrills
Way back in time,
Wrapped in innocence.
Do you remember,
Our photograph
On the garden bench?
Like old classics
Tinged in yellow.
The wrinkles on our
Once locked foreheads
Are parallel,
Like our own journeys.
And months after,
When you tell me
You are fine,
I always know how to,
Read between those lines.
