Meek

I walked around your garden at the back of your house, seeing all the pretty things you had discarded on the path.

I see you gently swinging on the faux stone bench, your parents of strange oath.

Your hair flutters in the wind and your face cracks as a tear rolls down your cheek.

I’m just a ghost in your past, drowning in all the things I should have said. Man the meek.

D April 2017

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