Poetry

The Shadows We Run From – Brooke Safferman

You are the Splenda in my cup of tea

A little something sweet, even if you aren’t the real deal

One little sip is all I need to keep the nightmares away

When my hand is in yours, invincible becomes more than just a word.

 

You told me my yellow sundress embodies the springtime itself,

My peppermint lip balm, the dead of winter

With you, I become one of the cherry blossoms blooming on the tree next door

The only thing you made me lose is loss, itself.

 

And the windowpanes would speak if they could,

Whisper their memories about who and what happened in this house before we did

The floorboards creak with stories, and hopes, and dreams 

Fulfilled and latched on to, 

We will write a story of our own

The closing line, the acknowledgments, but most importantly, the epilogue

 

The shadows we run from are merely ourselves.

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