The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.


47. Less

The people you loved became the people you lost, and you died a little more.

The scars on your heart became the scars on your arm, and you smiled a little less.

The people you hate became the people you envied, and you cried a little more.

The hair stuck in your comb became the hair on your pillowcase, and you talked a little less.

The twinkle in your eye became the gleam of sunlight at dawn, and you blinked a little more.

The room you were never in became your sanctuary, and you laughed a little less.

The life you once loved became the life you once lived, and you stared a little more.

The love you once had became the love that you lost, and you lived a little less.


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