POETRY
They’ll only get my leaves,
When I choose to set them free.
But when I read the news,
I can’t help but think,
I hope this happens to you.
But who you used to be,
Created the best version of me.
Before the fear of the mourning,
When busy bees don’t have time to grieve.
Can’t change the past
But we can change how much it means.
70. 80. 90. I’m not sure.
I’m just searching for the blur.
But on this road I live in dreams,
Of what has been and what could be.