Maybe my hands
weren’t meant
to hold yours,
even if my heart
refused to let go.
As if a flower
still grows
and appears
in the middle—
in a crack
of a concrete
road.
Maybe my hands
weren’t meant
to hold yours,
even if my heart
refused to let go.
As if a flower
still grows
and appears
in the middle—
in a crack
of a concrete
road.
