I was alone.
You were there,
With me.
You used to hold my hand.
You used to be my dreams.
I never thought of love,
Only about suffering.
But you became my sun.
O' you made me believe.
You handed me your soul.
It was silvery,
It was made of moon,
Of all of its tears.
You gave me hope.
Made me believe.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for the heartless and heartbroken
PoetryMy poetry dwells in the infinite sadness of the broken and the heartless.
