Yet here I am, again.
To this dark place in my heart,
that even I, can't decipher with words,
just want to hide from everyone around,
hoping, it might help me escape this gloomy ground,
been here most of the times now
yet still I wonder,
why it feels so oddly calm?
˚* ੈ✩‧₊
Do you ever just write anything in the spur of a feeling and moment, then stop midway to complete it some other day. But later on when you find that piece again in your draft, it feels like a perfect art piece, that you can't word it any more perfectly like you did the very first time? Because, same.
