As river's gaze flashed
fire beneath its azure ice,
our spring never came.
How does it work?
Wow. Poignant and painful.
More stories from Amanda Johnson and writers in Poets and other communities.
Underneath that proud posture, far below Atlassian shoulders and the easy-going armor of an air sign, a soft spirit convalesces, simultaneously willing its wounds to heal while grieving their loss.
By Amanda Johnson 4 years ago in Poets
i move at a glacial pace how to explain the fuzz in my head the sifting through the thoughts to figure out which ones
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a million memories, azaleas, camellias, and dogwoods. Wisteria. fragments of who I was, who you thought I was, who you were, who I thought you were.
By Harper Lewis6 days ago in Poets
“Sky! Wait up!” I keep going, looking straight ahead. Little pitter-patter of tiny footsteps follow rapidly behind me.
By Sama Habib2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Wow. Poignant and painful.