Designing Lorri

Something Bitter, Something Sweet

Memories are like a howling wind,
Crashing against my skull.
It’s not like I ask to stare into the forest of clouds–
But your eyes still drag me in.
Flashes of what could have been race in my brain–
I still feel as hopeful as morning dew on a rose bush.
Like the promise of springtime I yearn–
Surely something wonderful will be born of this.
But the reality of the rotten stench of wilted dreams
Always wakes me in the end.