Sunday, 1 February 2015
That small gust of wind that blows, just before rain is about to fall. That's where you'll find her. Her face drifts past, and something she said, as the scent of the rain permeates the world around you. A heart that's still sore longs for lost lovers. Pining for people that twisted it and tore it in torture. If I could throw it all up. The hurt that swum around my stomach. In a hurling healing heave. Then I'd be all better. I'd have my reprieve.