Rifling through dead pieces of me
I found you
in the middle of the remains.
The ink wasn’t fresh,
but the edges were still raw.
This is where I always kept you,
kept myself,
hidden away from the daylight.
I think we both hide,
for good reason.
It was never easy for us,
no matter,
we found a way to be.
We tell ourselves we’ll happen,
again and again.
It is such a little hope
that I cling to it,
like the dead pieces of me.
But what I know,
I know,
fate just can’t let us be.
k.l.c.
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