A boy sat on a park bench
With his eyes up in the sky
Two birds flapping around the clouds
Noticing each direction they go
Pulled out a notebook
Wrote himself a letter
Hoping he'll feel windless
But the paper remained blank
The door behind him remained open
Like a wound with no platelets to close it
The sounds of bittersweet "I love you" last for years
Wishing time could be meddled and feel the touch of a never-ending euphoria once again
He had no option, but to sit there and watch
YOU ARE READING
the archives from batch no. 823
Poetrya collection of unsaid thoughts, archived in my mind and now written in words.
