Cold water feels warm, when my hands are actually freezing,
It's always the first thing in my reach, enough to quench my thirst, even if it's poison,
Those photos of group of faces smiling altogether, with me excluded.
It was always a race of the runners against my chasing, if I was to achieve it.
Walking down that memory lane, how many more it's okays til I'm self-imploding?
Was the room of my gaining so small, having to go through losses before achieving?
What did I have to do? Pleasing unpleased people just to get my way in?
Why I had to be the product of all these so long, traumatic days?
Heaving, breathless, tired from all this running to and away,
From the monsters and towards what would become the same.
One more day before it all changes, as they always say,
But little do they know it's also one more day closer to my pages graying away.
Never the life of the party, never included, just accompanying nothingness.
And so I flipped through her diary as if it were my holy scripture, just for an omen
In cursive writings it read, "If I were to lose my favorite beloved thing,
Should I have to worry about never having it in the first place, or try on finding it?"
YOU ARE READING
TogetHER On Pages Of HIStory
PuisiA 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...
