Washing of the Rain
Please read the work of a amazing writer.
You were the story I didn’t write,
the painting I didn’t make,
the goodbye I didn’t give,
and the chance I didn’t take.
You were the phonograph I never played,
the song I didn’t sing,
and a northwest passage expedition
that never made it to Beijing.
You’re the pictures on the wall
that never did get hung.
You’re the spool of gold, my darling,
the Singer never sung.
You’re the tears that fill my eyes
in the silent whispers of the night.
You’re my stomach filled with butterflies,
and the lyrics I just can’t write.
You’re the thoughts that flood my brain
with each new day I wake.
You’re the last one on my mind,
and the peace I didn’t make.
You’re the absence missed so very deeply,
the restless longing in my core.
You’re the marker of what once was
to never going back before.
You put the blue…
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