- Chaima Chmissihar citeretfor 2 måneder siden
The world remembers
What we try to forget
It’s in the embers
Of the things we left
It’s in the concrete,
The streets we used to tread
In the halls we used to meet
When we had hours to spend
It’s in the book you carried home
In this umbrella we shared
It’s in the stars you wished on
In your skin, your palms,
Your fingers: playing with my hair
It’s in your unmade bed
The wrinkle, the weight
It’s in the distance to the door I travelled
In the silence, partings unsaid - Nervana Blesselhar citeretsidste år
“She could take care of herself,”
doesn’t mean she didn’t need someone else to do it.
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