I am carelessly running
into things that remind me
of you.
Being here,
inside myself,
has never felt safe –
I am slowly walking
on the tip of my toes
hoping I won't bump
into memories of you.
You're made of a nostalgia
I'll be feeding on with hunger
and I won't stop,
I can't stop
until I'll wolf
everything down
to the last
could have been.
First poem written in almost 2 years – walking home with the headphones in my ears. I cannot recall the songs. Random inspiration.
