At times, when the cold embrace of winter hit me,
It brings back all those old memories
As if I had saved them for this moment all along.
The memories I never dared to share with someone else,
The memories of which I wanted to share
But remain like the one-way pattern of any half-woven cardigan.
The cardigan which keeps filling with holes
Instead of being complete.
These winters often bring those people with memories,
But not to complete that remaining pattern of cardigan,
Instead just to fill it with more holes.
Sometimes I want to give away those memories like pained ones,
But they're the warmest I kept closest to me.
Though I knew I'd regret them,
But if I hadn't woven those memories,
I'd still have regretted.
Wonder if this unwoven cardigan of mine
Will ever be woven,
Or the holes in it would keep widening
Like those inside these memories and my head.
YOU ARE READING
Tales Of Hopeless Romantics: Imperfect Poetic Journey Of Love And Life
Poetry"My love was as cruel as my nightmares, and it was as beautiful as my daydream, which never dare to turn itself into reality, neither did it ever ended like a daydream, the agony kept hanging me like that of half hope, the hope kept hanging me like...
