I’ve memorized the weight of doors
that never swung my way
Do they dream of being opened?
Or has silence sealed their sway?
Why do all the roads I wander
taste of almost, never there
like fruit forever out of reach,
still sweetening the air?
Is home just a name I give
to the ache of looking back?
Or a light I keep pursuing
always close, but always slack?
About the Creator
Yasmine Lagras
creative writer , poet and researcher.
Aspiring to reach more people.
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