✩*⢄⢁✧ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ✧⡈⡠*✩
What's mine, is it really mine?
Did I grasp it too hard that it slipped past my fingers?
Or I held it too light for it to bounce off my palms.
Is that why I'm empty handed, with a residue that I can't dust off?
Am I egoistic or that's just my coping mechanism?
Did I water it too much that it's dying?
Or did I hesitated to pluck the fruits that it's drooping?
Is that why I'm the never forgotten but always a leftover?
Am I taking too long or it's never happening?
Was I always standing that I can't see it anymore ?
Or did I run past it that it's behind me?
Is that why I'm in the front or the back but never beside?
Is it self-love or toxic positivity?
Am I disappearing because I was too afraid of speaking?
Or am I drowning because I never learned swimming?
For a fleeting moment it was mine then it got lost forever.
︾︾︾︾︾ ─ ─ ─ ─ ❀
