I see the world through amber-colored glasses.
You were never in love with me. The thought hits me like a cresting wave. The weeks, now months, I've spent pouring over every memory
By Amber DeMarr5 years ago in Poets
I can't afford to be optimistic. I've broken my own neck searching for stars when there were none to be found. Hope is my unsent letters.
I once dreamed with a color behind my eyes. As I woke it began to fade I chased it; grasped glimpses of it through the day
For some reason, my entire life, people always felt the need to tell me I'm a "lone wolf." They soothe their pity, maybe guilt, with the idea that I've chosen this; that I'm alone because it's just in my nature.