Getting Coffee on a Sunday Night

In a way, I hate being here.
Though you aren’t,
Your presence is.
Laughing at me.
It knows why I came. . .
It sees me searching.
It follows just behind,
Wherever I go.
It’s far enough away,
Where I can’t reach it.
It covers me like smoke.
Yet too thin.
Leaving no room for substance.
But then again. . .
You already know
You wrote that story long ago

Getting Coffee on a Sunday Night

SanaAnya

Joined January 2008

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

Moments of my life, with brother in tow. Making sense of a loss, that I never should have gained.

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