It was the kind of hurt where your tears were falling silently. Your eyes eyeing the ceiling and being unable to think of anything- and those silent sobs you left- that was the proof you were hurting.
And no- it was not that kind of hurt, not yet. It was that kind of hurt where you were left wondering about the things you've done. That kind of hurt where you've locked yourself out inside a cubicle and cried. That kind of hurt where you feel like swimming in the icy waters and feeling yourself go numb.
And no- that was not all. You've only seen that small tip of an iceberg- not the depth.
YOU ARE READING
Lost between the Lines
Poetry"Between thinking, typing and erasing- an untold story ended." [A COLLECTION OF POEMS,PROSE,INSIGHTS] The thoughts going in my head. (#1 on prose on March 3, 2019)
