The difference is…

My soul is empty. 

Eyelids close over eyes that are dry.

Days are short while nights grow longer.

My heart races from fear.

Afraid of what is to come and what has been.

I am

alone.

No.  Not alone…

lonely.

There is a difference.

The hunger

is endless

and exhausting.

Not about love, but what’s lost…

passion.

My passion.

That’s the difference.

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Filed under Creative writing, Life, Loss, Love, Poetry, Writer, Writing

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