Reading back, acting shocked-
Did I write that?
Those thoughts…
darkness…
hopelessness…
Somehow I am still here.
Now I see flowers as beauty and a future, although hazy, a future nonetheless.
Something my 22-year-old brain could not compute.
My fractured heart hid behind stealthy eyes.
My pen and appear the only witness to tumulus musings ruminating in my mind.
When love is absent, life is dull- not worth the struggle, to worth my being.
Does time actually heal all wounds?
Can we all make it through until time is enough?
Will we last until a new sorrow plagues the soul?
Until then, cheers for I am still here.
Thank you time.
By: Erin Marie Winans
It has been a while since I posted here, but I felt myself drawn to writing in my notebook and these are the words that spilled from my hand. With new realizations and a semi–clear head, I find myself in a better headspace. I wonder what I will write next and I look forward to these thoughts and feelings.
developingpoet 