{the ragged, the jagged}
if he’s startled of me in the fresh beams of the sunrise,
he’ll never recognize me under the cover of the indigo moon,
constantly seeking proof,
yet the greatest things in life cannot be proven:
love, feelings, dreams…
the shape of one’s soul,
the ragged, the jagged parts of me,
the parts of me that make me whole.
will you become merely a nostalgia of mine?

--e.l. jayne