Under My Pillow
She used to leave pieces of her mind under my pillowJust little things she’d come across during the day
Things that made her think of me, us, our son
On special days she thought really hard what to plant there
I could tell
And I loved all of them without exceptions
That was for eleven birthdays and eleven wedding anniversaries
Yesterday was our 12th wedding anniversary
And under my pillow, there was her death letter
I waited for his 18th birthday
and under his pillow, I slipped mine.
Poetry by kloot
Read 471 times
Written on 2006-11-19 at 23:56
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