Like the peices of paper,
From your old diary.
The one on which you scribbled,
Really spontaneously.
There was a passionate overflow,
But you wrote everything that came,
And promised to stay in your mind.
You didn't realise.
That this peice of paper,
Might only once witness your passion,
For after writing you'll forget,
Just like bits of peices unknown.
Meant to be thrown away.
And then maybe you'll one day discover it again.
YOU ARE READING
There Was A Feeling
PoetryWhile so many things could've changed, I wanted to decide I'll always be the same. But why is it so difficult? ------- This book is the poetry book with poetries highlighting topics anxiety, depression, self-doubt, heartbreak and many more such fee...
