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Remembering Sunday
I remember where I was,
(At Olive Garden).
And who was with me,
(My mom and dad).
I remember what day,
(It was Sunday).
And when it was,
(The first week of summer).
I remember my expression when he texted me,
(A brace-filled smile).
And my expression after I read what he had to say,
(A frown and a bitten lip to keep from crying).
I remember what the text had said,
(We’re not going to ever see each other this summer so maybe we should just end it now).
And my emotions,
(Sad, alone, dumped).
I remember where I was,
(In a dark hole beginning to fill with salty water).
And when it was,
(The first week of hell).
I remember what day,
(Sunday).
And how my heart felt,
(Broken…)
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This article has 10 comments.
Beautiful. Don't worry. You'll be fine. And you always have words, poetry, and Teenink to help you through.
For me, there is nothing more thereaupatic than writing, even if it ends up being no more than a waste of paper in terms of the actual quality of the work produced. But that's not the important part. The emotions of paper? The thoughts? That's what's important. And the writing community here? We'll help you through. :)
I like this style of poem :)
As for the guy... The same thing happened to me. After a month of moping around i realized it was a waste of time and just like that i got over it. But its not the same for everyone.. good luck :)
