I played my favorite piece once more,
Waiting for the sun to set,
As the sky turned into pinkish-orangey-purple,
Sitting on my piano chair like I didn't wished to die.
My heart's been beating,
That says I'm alive,
But—
Why can't I feel it?
It feels empty and shallow,
Is it just because I am an ill hearted person?
'cause if the answer is yes,
I'd be glad,
But then if no,
So why is it?
Did I become numb?
It seemed to slap me hard that I can't even feel my heart.
Apparently, there was this one mesmerizing sunset,
I watched it with someone I couldn't fathom to be out of my life,
It was quite a moment,
None of us talked nor made any noise,
But when he aimed for an embrace,
and held me like a precious porcelain,
I felt it.
He made my heart beat.
YOU ARE READING
A Perspective
PoetryThis is a compilation of my personal written poetry. No matter how emotionless you seem to everyone, eyes tend to tell them how you really feel. What was it that you saw, that it made you who you are today? Would you believe me that it's your point...
