I still see your shadow
etched into frosted glass.
As you stood against the window
in the face of a new dawn,
purple and crimson.
Your shadow is warm,
Even when what was our bed
is cold.
Poetry. Photography. Thoughts On The Way Of Things.
I still see your shadow
etched into frosted glass.
As you stood against the window
in the face of a new dawn,
purple and crimson.
Your shadow is warm,
Even when what was our bed
is cold.
Ever wonder why
The world is afraid of you?
Because it’s easy to be in your shadow
When you burn so bright.