Saturday was fine. Sickening, but fine.
But that Sunday just wasn't like any.
Perhaps I ought to let you know why.
I woke up to the sound of big tears from the sky.
Them, racing to leaves 'til they gently touched the ground.
I, struggling with what should first be done.
No rush, Monday's not until tomorrow.
I stared at my collection of melancholy stories.
Enveloped in paperbacks, they called me home.
I heard then, but never did listen.
I shed my share of the sad, sad sound.
Summer. It has been four months.
Fall. I never believed it was true.
Winter. You're cold and delicate as snowflake.
Rain. Your steadiness kills.
Walk slowly past them all,
Them who I thought I knew.
Don't look at them, for I'll see you.
It's the last thing today I would want to do.
There never was a choice, never a chance ---
And I'm sorry I waited for Sunday.
Because sometimes, what feels good is all wrong,
but what kills you inside is what's right.
Monday. Thought I didn't care.
Wednesday. I was caught unaware.
Saturday. Sick, but I'd be fine.
Sunday. I just knew it was goodbye. #
photo credit: shoulderdiary
No comments:
Post a Comment