- The cold air
bites the tip
of my nose.
Stiffening my
fingers, making
it harder to
grasp.
Missing the feel
of your worn hand.
- My fingernails
dig in nervously
as I wait for news,
for anything.
They leave marks
upon my desk but
I will never scratch
the surface of who
you are.
- It was bold
And she was scared,
But she did it anyway.
- Sinking into
silk
wet white silk
that has turned
blue
from all the tears
that had fallen
from the edges of
her face.
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