My wine glass is suddenly heavy.

I know, surely,

That I would still die for you.

You are silver grey now,

And my body is wider.

We are older,

But, I fear, not wiser.

You still smell the same, 

And it slays me,

As it always did. 

Stops me in my tracks,

Makes my knees buckle.

And yet, 

I don’t look back when you walk away,

And nor do you. 

Photo by Valeriia Miller from Pexels

Hannah is a freelance writer and blogger, who shares fiction, poetry and other ramblings at Secret Scribbles in London. She is currently in the very early stages of writing a novel. Hannah lives in South East London with a marauding toddler, an occasionally-marauding husband and a rescue cat, known as The Fluffbeast, who believes he has a very tragic life.

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