• lmeakin_poetry 5w

    There’s a slight gust of wind
    I hear the leaves of the trees rustle
    I’m in a familiar place, but you’re not here.
    A gift that I could truly never grasp myself.
    Pure happiness is scattered with the light,
    The humidity is comforting pressure
    The twigs snap where you once walked,
    I wonder if they remember.

    - Luke Meakin