I could write you a poem right now.
Let your soul linger on every syllable, every vowel.
Because these words, came from the sky.
They fell like rain, effortless, no need to try.
Like a skydiver, eager to fall.
Not fall to hurt, but to risk all.
Be my airplane.
And I’ll be your sky.
So that maybe, if we listen close,
we can hear the past cry.
Because it made the mistake.
It put its life at stake.
The past fell too fast.
And now, it is gone.
This post was submitted by Rachelder .