It tastes sour…


I am writing these words here,

A place left with many of our precious memories.

The crimson overweight wooden table,

The cozy fluffy red sofa,

light reflects from the glasses of nearby
buildings,

dazzling,

warmth shines through the floor glass on my face and hand,

tender,

Sweetened steam snakes from the hazelnut flavored hot chocolate,

Hallucinating;


If there are tears, it is time to shed them now,

Fragile heart wrapped with aching muscles and weary nerves,

The voice still echoes, the sensation still remains;

Broken promises, empty expectations,

They were forgotten,

a hundred times;


If there is pain, it does not make it any less by saying there is not;

It tastes sour,

The bitterness is as real as it was ever before.


Like many other for nobody poems, this is where the pain
remains.

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2 thoughts on “It tastes sour…

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