I never told you.
But I feel as though my days have been split into dying seconds—each desperate to survive on, to just live.
Their weak breath reminds me of who I would never be, to just give up, to leave. The funny classics I occupied them with never get interesting enough, somehow, anymore for me to read till the end; maybe it's because they remind me of laughters I will no longer get to hear.
I never told you.
But life has become a chore. I get up everyday to see familiar faces that are supposed to be family, happy, together; but somehow, I don't feel this things, I feel empty, not good enough, not tried enough. That maybe there wouldn't be so much passing time—wasted, if I'd been better.
I never told you.
And sadly I'll never do, because I couldn't hold on long enough to keep you from departing; so this time I won't run away. I'll be braver and take this wheezing breaths with my days, until something within breaks, just a crack small.
Then maybe I'll be able to see just what light looks like.
YOU ARE READING
Forgotten Letters
PoetryI think poetry is one of the greatest outlets for bottled up emotions and words best left unsaid. So, this book is just another one of my outlets and I hope while you may find yourself relating or not, you may still be able to enjoy this poetry as i...
