POETRY

They’ll only get my leaves,
When I choose to set them free.

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But when I read the news,
I can’t help but think,
I hope this happens to you.

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But who you used to be,
Created the best version of me.

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Before the fear of the mourning,
When busy bees don’t have time to grieve.

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Can’t change the past
But we can change how much it means.

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70. 80. 90. I’m not sure.
I’m just searching for the blur.

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But on this road I live in dreams,
Of what has been and what could be.

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