I was yours. You were wrong to never see that. To never claim it.
I want to find you when you sleep. Reach through your dreams and wrap my arms around your waist.
Drawn to a boy who I knew, far down in the soul of me, was too far to grab and pull close enough to swallow.
A memory is often skewed
black-balled, but powdered blue.
Forgiving is one part forgetting and three parts letting go.
I’m still that person with soft skin and an open heart. Whether rich or poor. Lost or found. I deserve to not be forsaken.
It’s hard to not miss the friends of the past. The ones she never should have let turn to only scribbles in an old notebook.