Dying, I thought, was an all at once kind of event. That in all of your life, you will only die once and that would be the end – your last good day. But truth is, it isn't. Dying never happens once. It happens every single time your heart does not beat for anything – for anyone - anymore. I died when you said it's over, like it had always been so obvious. I die whenever I come to think that I once had thought I would spend the rest of my life with you, not with my memories of you. I die each night realizing that I would never get to fall asleep hearing your heartbeat. And in the morning, I would die all over again as I come to feel that my chest is hollow for my heart, you have taken. I have died a thousand times before, and still I do now. I died just as I thought I had all the reasons to live.
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Paper & Ink |#Wattys2016|
Poetry"I am the black on white; the ink on paper." A collection of my nightly thoughts and daydreams. Highest rank: #5 in Poetry. Please enjoy reading and find a friend in one of my works. :)
