Sunday afternoon
Unsaid words hung grimly in the air. Stubbornly, we pretended to look busy and unconcerned, Consumed by our own feelings of righteousness, Refusing to see the point of view of another. Time passed in heavy silence. Did it still matter what we fought about?
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vyampol
I was raised in Russia and moved to the States at the tender age of 16. Been writing poetry since I was 11 years old. It is my favorite way of spending time:)
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