Crashing onto the bed after a day I had no expectations from,
Gazing up at the ceiling
Mind filled in with the thoughts of "no one cares"
but was it all true?
Everyday it seems my duty
to strike a conversation with the people I feel are sunshine to me,
but are they really the sun I am looking for?
Cause every passing day
we grow apart,
from daily texts to rarely talking
to absolutely distant,
is this what they meant by the promises of' being here for me always'
Or maybe it's just me who feels
I am over doing my efforts?
Will they even care if I go away?
If I walk out like I never existed,
If I stay away from their daily-to-rare texts?
Will they look for me if I don't respond?
Why does it feel like I am doing it for attention?
The hopes living beneath my skin
craves for being felt important
cause every night when I stay alone
I fight with the demons
to not feel like a pretentious trash human
who's good for nothing.
For one beautiful night,
when the stars are sparkling like the ocean waves
brightened up by the sunshine,
I wanna feel important,
important to exist, important to be here,
important for someone even a bit
important enough to let those rare texts turn into daily texts?
What if I crave to be an useful existence
and not a utter disappointment every second of my heart's rhythm?
What if I say I wanna live,
and not just be here?
What if I say I am seeking attention,
attention from the ones who are sunshine to me,
cause for them,
I can chase stars
I can be the source of comfortable silence,
I can be the comfort place they dream of,
I can be the happiest being
if they smile cause of me.
Is it still wrong to just expect a bit of attention?
Attention so that I can feel alive,
useful, important,
and not just someone who's existing,
but a someone who's living,
aligning the stars for
bringing comfort to
the hearts who are sunshine.
I wanna exist, I wanna live,
I wanna make my promises of 'being there for them' come true
even if they broke theirs.
YOU ARE READING
Unsent Letters With Words Unsaid.
PoetryIt is always going to be just you, the stars and some pages lying all over your place, And you will wait for a language to speak about things that haunts you, but I think you will prefer staying quiet. I guess, Unsaid Words are a language of their o...