I sit in the shadows of the day crying out a broken window.
A shard of glass produces blood from my left wrist,
Though it doesn’t stop the pain in my mist.
My heart longs for your sweet lips pressed against mine,
And your gentle touch that drives me crazy every time.
I wish upon a shooting star to go back,
I wouldn’t have done those things and you wouldn’t have to pack.
But I know I’ll never have the chance to,
And if it means anything – I love you.
This post was submitted by Jacqueline Bayer.