It’s 2AM and suddenly, I want to write about everything I couldn’t say when it was actually happening.
Pain has such a weird way of turning into poetry at night.
Maybe this is healing. Maybe it’s just insomnia.
Either way, it feels honest.
It’s 2AM and suddenly, I want to write about everything I couldn’t say when it was actually happening.
Pain has such a weird way of turning into poetry at night.
Maybe this is healing. Maybe it’s just insomnia.
Either way, it feels honest.
Comments
Post a Comment