I guess my achievements were just mere feelings of achieving
Or maybe it was her, and her way of flaunting the loss in my face, whispering
"Two can play the game, except the third is always a referee,"
Except that I had to redefine who was the player and who wasn't, in between
So I did what I could to decipher her, and flipped through her writings
Nerve-ridden clutch under the table, as if one little slip would leave us unraveling
My wandering gaze read, "No one's ever wanted me, except for him.
So was this my calling, or just another learning lesson of an un-having?"
It was at times when the quill felt heavier, fearing that fate may step in
Dictating my narrative, telling me to write whatever it had in mind instead
The churning feeling in my stomach, and my battered heart's palpitations
Felt enough to send me, not in the state of my own writer, but a mere spectatorship
She knew it, she always did that I saw her more than just a friend
But the more I found paths towards her, the more I was lead to dead ends
This familiar epiphany made me wait for the happenings instead of the happened
As his absence finally defined her presence again, I let time reign the events instead
YOU ARE READING
TogetHER On Pages Of HIStory
PoetryA verse novel that weaves through the woes and wonders of life and experiences - metaphoric to love. It redefines finality to the point that it becomes more like a beginning to second chances. Chase is determined to get her, despite knowing the imp...
