|Blogs > Johnjo1975 > my stories|
we did not see much
but what we saw
resembled childhood doors
between dimly lit rooms and dark ones.
we did not hear much
but what we heard
resembled voices we once knew
that promised sweet dreams and rewarded us with nightmares.
we did not smell much
but what we smelled
resembled the dead flowers we used to keep in a vase on the ktichen table until all colour had faded.
worse than pain
is absence of pain
and so we hurt each other tenderly
on the banks of the old river in the lowlands.