I'm finishing the story,
How can it be true?
I'm nearing the end;
There is no future to see.
It doesn't feel real
But it is—it's all going to be over.
Months it's been since this world's been right,
Hours it's been since I've seen light.
I don't want to leave,
Not yet, it's too soon
But yet, the ending has come.
I don't know what's real.
We sit out on the sand,
The fog covers the sky,
And blankets the world,
Like a shield.
The waves nip at our feet,
The water's cold
But I'm warm because you hold my hand,
We stand on the dock,
The sun has set,
But I can see your happiness
Even in the dead of night.
The streetlight's on,
The metal is all rusted
And covered in salt,
I.
A small brush of fingers,
Biting your lips to stop a smile,
Choking on the words,
Dancing late under streetlights,
Everything could change with one slip,
Find my waist, feel my heartbeat,
Comments
This is a response poem to a poem I wrote almost a year ago, which was in the 2024 Anthology.
love this!! also totally get how you feel--i'm nearing the end of the first draft of my book and it'll be so hard to leave all the characters/their story...
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