Still smelled like flowers

It’s funny how I feel like,
My shoes are still soiled,
From traces of footsteps,
In the journey we took,
I guess I never bothered to wash them clean.
Or how my clothes are still stained,
With your fragrance,
Embeded deep,
Even after bleaching them In the washing machine.
It’s been months living in with your disappearance,
Still the debris,
I hold to them dearly,
Should there be a reason for me to affectionate meaning behind how,
my pace has staggered,
In a fluctuating state,
Because of the shadows that permiate,
Inside the dreams I have,
When I doze to sleep,
Or even when in the vicinity of sunlight?
Where my mind projects holographic images,
Of a time when those moments,
Still smelled like flowers.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s