You are this abstract painting I always pass by at the museum. One that I didn't grant much thought or look at for longer because I'm wary of the fire that lingers within. A menacing fire that I know holds the possibility to destroy me if I don't handle it cautiously.
The museum holds so much happiness, so much pain, and so much history—and you are the one I chose to ignore. I pass by you every single time and I knew that noticing what you could offer would only draw me to an abyss where the strokes of your colors will only be a view to see, not a feeling to feel.
I know that I'm just a visitor in your museum; a random stranger that will pass by you, take a glimpse, then leave. I'm nothing but a stranger who doesn't even make an impression. And maybe that's fine because this certain hurt I feel when I think of you cannot grow. After all, there's a limit to the pain my heart can hold.
—heard by the wind, it was October when you told me I looked pretty
YOU ARE READING
just in whispers
PoesiaSome love happens too fast to be deemed true. Some love fades away so swiftly that it doesn't approve to be grasped as a memory. Some love is enormous it calls to be screamed. Then there's my love for you that is the same yet different. A love so fo...
