It must kill you to know
I no longer think about you
more than a hundred times a day.
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A little known fact about me: I struggle through January and February (and sometimes even March) with the desire to not get out of bed. My e...
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Her silver tears reflect on the still pond as a howl shatters silence.
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Rub salt in the wound Let it sting and burn and bleed It cannot be fixed.
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Soft cloth brushing against my cheek as I turn over in bed.
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Just because I'm shy doesn't mean you can't say hello I get lonely, too.
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Little yellow finch Trilling a harmony from the bird feeder.
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Tiny little bodies falling from the light fixture landing on my desk.
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Do you ever lose faith in the people, in the world around you do you ever want to scream?
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Sky as clear as glass Stars as bright as our sun. Hers is always the brightest.
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With each passing day I grow a little older a little more weary.
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Labels
- art (3)
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"How to Talk To Your Animals" by Jean Craighhead George.
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