Sour love

Fatema Maha
Jul 20, 2017 · 1 min read

My hand landed on the cold pillow

As I sat up my feet touched my lone, scattered sneakers

My hanger, stood empty of her purse

The shirt from last night lay bare of her dress, on the couch

The door shut, tight

I stood up, with no one staring at my body,

No one scheming to pull me back in bed

And I come out of my trance as tears stream down my face,

She was gone.

)
    Fatema Maha

    Written by

    I look at writing as a way to vent, invent and share. It helps me connect with people at a deeper level which surpasses verbal communication.