Dienstag, 10. Januar 2017
Beklæger.
A theory starts forming

Through the numbing mourning

That fact that something's missing

Crawls through the reminiscing

Something that I forgot

Somewhere where I am not

A vital organ of some kind

One I'll never ever find

My feet in the tide?

My lungs in the wind?

My nose in the sea?

My eyes in the sand?

It can't be my heart

For I feel it start

Whenever I think of you.

~Liv
June 2016

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