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.
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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