Written by Moonflower

I’m just a paper bag.
Given to you by hands of fate,
unrecognisable, indistinct.
You were the kind of stranger,
who flashed me a sincere smile,
when I passed on by.
I blended in the background of thousands,
carrying nothing but emptiness.

I met you again.
Drenched under the bus stop,
our conversation slow and awkward,
like the rain dripping off the metal shelter.
You didn’t let on much,
you only offered your sweet voice.

Continue reading →