Proses with its Roses

&&.16

&&.

i still have stories untold under my pillows, no one knows their emotions.

i still have poems written inside my dusty old notebook, no one has read it aside from my own mind.

i still have songs found in my phone's notes, it is actually locked with some decipher, no one has sang them yet.

i still have broken pieces i kept on finding alone whenever no one's around, no one knows i'm not complete anymore.

it's not the people around me,
my friends,
my family,
nor my past lovers,
who have known me better
than my treasured
pillows,
old notebooks,
locked notes.

humans aren't that special after all and they can't just describe me into one, two, or three words because i am more than that.

i am the grave in my grandmother's garden. i am not shallow, and there's still something more inside me that no one knows.

i am the iceberg which made the great ship named Titanic lose its control. they never thought i am capable of making a huge ship sink, they see me as a small one. hmm, they never know.

there is something more in me and i'd be glad meeting someone who's ready to dive and dig my soul with no judgments.

i hope to see you soon, my man, and let me share you everything.