8. Her

Once in a while,
I remember her,
the girl who was once me,
who loved watches and clocks,
fantasy and magic,
a nomad at heart,
a prisoner in life.
But we broke free,
with dreams and wings
So many of us,
and it’s just me now.
I blame them,
I believe it’s them,
who is the reason
that I’m alone
But sometimes I wonder,
if it was me,
who killed the nomad in me.

One thought on “8. Her

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *