minutes grew into hours and the hope of
you weakened until it was
behind me and
ahead was a blank page
(or two)
and I wasn't sad about it like usual just
blank
like the page
which was littered with invisible words
with kisses on a certain seaside
on seas crashing
on lips
that belonged to somebody else
and I wasn't sad that you didn't come
because a part of me was scared
that a part of you
would be able to see the words
I'd left there
(a certain seaside)
on my lips
Minutes grew in hours of hope. Nicely penned poem shared ever. Keep on writing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
picturesque quality is fantastic waiting is boring yet a sensation