When every broken love story
reminds me of you,
every heavy silence
between hero
and old flame,
every strong drink,
wistful look
The delicate guitar begins,
the goodbye theme
(we were never the kind
who needed violins)
you come to mind.

When you fill my head
I stand outside,
watch the leaves turn slowly
in the water.

My moments with you
stand frozen in time,
our pain lives in sad songs
and old films

alongside every broken heart.

we’ll never feel alone.

July ’09


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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