poetry
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I still save things to tell you I wake forgetting your warmthisn’t beside I walk through the doorand look for you It’s like my being hasn’t been toldreality is different If only these walls could speak Between the Lines © 2026
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When the sun is swallowed by sorrow a flower surrenders her bloom – loneliness becomes the earth and time has disappeared There is no movement, only grief’s scent lingering in her lungs Between the Lines © 2026
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It’s a paradox, really –that in trying to give you room to breathe,I took the breath from my own lungs And perhaps that is the cruelest part –you are my air Between the Lines © 2026
Between the Lines 