What makes you different is your voice, a half-whispered dare that snags my thoughts like thorns. You scrawl dreams in the margins of old receipts, and they’re truer than most people’s plans. Your step’s a rhythm no one else hears, except me, dodging cracks in the sidewalk like their fate. Others shout to be seen; you just are—a quiet riot, painting my gray world red.
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Author:
ROSHI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 29th, 2025 05:17
- Comment from author about the poem: She asked me this question, so I answered in poem.
- Category: Love
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: jjudaharts
Offline)
Comments1
That continual image of one enamored by in the brain catching at every corner and space. A lovely write
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