H i r a e t h

Photo by Alexander Popov on Unsplash

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.