When the heart betrays

Number three

I wonder sometimes if I'm the reason, the inspiration, the push, through your struggles, written thoughts and half rhymes

I wonder sometimes if I matter, or if anything in the air reminds you of me, or if the days we walked around those boring malls, with wide smiles and glassy eyes, struck you in nostalgia, like it does to me

I wonder sometimes if the poetry I write, will be as good as yours, though the pain I've went through, incomparable with your scars and marks that punctured your soul

But I'm smart enough to know that the words you write somehow will relate to my faults or trace around my bullet holes between my frowns or beneath my skin and I'm proud that those beautiful words you wrote might've been for me