I miss the old days
when we were absorbed in our ways
writing everyday
searching for something to say
that felt okay

everyone’s now busy
no longer writing freely
searching for something in reality
now bound by gravity

Forgetting the joy it could bring
The high that would make you sing
It feels empty and it stings

I miss how it made me sing
I miss the warmth it would bring
I miss the people and feelings of kin
I now wonder, where shall I begin?
© Yohan Gray