The place 

The place where we first met ,

Is now a playground with kids 

Playing catch on a hot summer evening.

🍃

The place where we first met,

has lost its essence.

I smell something burning in my presence,

It’s not those letters, texts or

Every memory of interwined fingers,

But it’s the smell of my hope burning

and the death of emotions.

🍃

The place where we first met,

Has the same tree with slightly yellow leaves,

But it’s not the time of sunset, 

Like it used to be. 🍃

The place where we first met,

Is not that bright,

I don’t see any bicycles underneath that tree,

I see miles and miles of emptiness,

The blue sky and me,only me. 🍃

The place where we first met,

It’s autumn there,

I don’t see any white flowers on the way,

Like they used to be, 

I see my wrist watch showing the same time,

Like it used to when there was a ‘we’.

🍃

The place where we first met,

Is not filled with poetry,

It’s naked with the scars ,

By the wars of memories and me.

🍃

The place where we first met is healing,

Like my wrists with slits,

But the water near it ,

Is cold with chunks of dirt and filth,

Not like it used to be ,

Warm and all silk.

🍃
The place where we first met , 

It’s quiet now,

Because it’s 3a.m here,

And the place where we first met is bleeding,

Bleeding along with me , 

And the place where we first met is in my heart ,

Where it is meant to be.

-Via f.f (the place)​

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Lita says:

    Your third last stanza is my favourite. People like to half compare the memories that you get after separating from someone to pretty poetry. When in reality it just feels, “naked with the scars ,
    By the wars of memories and me.” and I love how you constructed that emotion in this stanza.
    Anyways I love your writing, looking forward to reading more.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. reme.dies says:

      Thank you, I love when people connect to my writing , and this inspires me to write more , this really means a lot.

      Liked by 1 person

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