Thirty years ago, you said goodbye
because I was forbidden fruit.
Our lifetimes have almost passed,
yet I still think of you
(as you think of me).
Sometimes goodbye
isn’t enough…
Love lasts
still.
About the Creator
Heather Scott
Writing, to keep my sanity and make some sense of the world, while keeping watch over my five children as a single parent.
Reader insights
Nice work
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
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Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
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Where the woods breathe.
The woods don't shout like cities do, they speak in hush and hum, in leaf-tongue whispers overhead, in the beat of beetle drums. Sunlight spills in broken gold, caught on every seam, stitching shadows to the ground like pieces of a dream. The trees stand tall as ancient thought, their roots curled. Their branches writing quiet maps of an older, softer world. A breeze turns pages in the ferns, the moss remembers rain, and somewhere far, a wood thrush calls a silver, bending strain. If you walk slow, the forest knows. It matches breath for breath,lends you its calm, unknots your chest,and steals your hurrys weight. for in the woods,time loosebs up,becomes a drifting thing. Just light and bark and steady heart and everything listening. and when you leave, a part remains, tied to root and hood. a small, green pulse you carry home: the quiet of the woods.
By Siatola Weaver4 days ago in Poets
Comments (3)
Impactful writing. I feel this one.
good
Lovely piece.