Photo by Johannes Roth on Unsplash
Heavy rain fell
the moment I left,
as if the sky
shared my loneliness.
The drops on my face
almost tasted—
salty, warm—
It wasn’t the rain.
About the Creator
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More stories from Veronica Smith and writers in Poets and other communities.
At My Wits’ End
Life is about taking out the trash and calling it trash because you have every reason to. It wasn't meant to be linear, they say. But the times you tried to make it straight led to problems, and you didn’t have the tools to put any of it to use. You don't put your right shoes on the right feet; you put the left shoes on the left feet. The grey hardened slab will trip you up anyway.
By Caitlin Charlton4 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
Nice article