Category Archives: Prose

A hiraeth is a homesickness: spring waiting with a cure.

Advertisements

Painful watching the dead die a second death.


You were you,

and

I was

no more.


The world

takes you

away,

love calls

you back.


Clinging to me

like rain,

you are not only

in the sun.


I do not want to not love you.


A Wintery Fall

We all fall;

some as snow,

that melts

and some as rain.