It was under a night sky when everything was subtle. In all directions, the flashing lights passed me in a hazy wave. I was left voiceless, meticulous, scarred from the single drop of crystalline tear leaving your eye and into the whereabouts we'd used to call home. My eyes held the most inevitable bundle of questions, but none perceived into legitimate and concrete words.
I was bound to the idea of sanity only to merely grasp into the shallow depths of what everyone called its opposite. My chest only throbbed; the very thought of you slipping away, but the pain spreading like intolerable wildfire.
You left;
and for an infinite number of days, the different phases of reality flashed though my eyes in rapid succession.
A thousand lifetimes I'd wished to share with you,
but you're the kind of home I could never return to.
YOU ARE READING
but love is(n't) supposed to hurt
PoetryWhy do we write? We do it for our thoughts. We plaster whatever our minds couldn't convey into letters in digital screens, or words in permanent ink. It is ne'er boastful, but humble in many different variations. Particularly, I take interest in the...
