gone are the days when the taste of my coffee is like sipping a magic elixir—changing every muscle in my body into pixie dust strewn over me—wonderful, magical.
gone are the days when reading books is like listening to good night stories told by wonderland—that thinking good things will make me fly—peaceful, calming.
gone are the days when the late-night treks seemed like finding a way back home—of finding delight and comfort in moments of quiet pavements and the warm windows of strangers' eyes—lost, empty.
gone are the days when listening to a song was like having someone who understands and speaks my emotions—someone willing to share the darkness of the pit i am in—a sanctuary, refuge.
gone are the days when traveling was a way of finding pieces of myself in every place i went—to be lost and be found; to be home.
for gone is the boy made up of all the creative things in his head—nothing more than a dream remembered—
all lost, all dead.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts Bared in Gray Nuances
Poetry...and so, rather than flowers, throw the torn pages of this vestige to my tomb. and so, instead of elegies, recite all the pieces written here. and so, in lieu of crying, burn this whole thing and toss this tome's ashen catachresis to my grave. do...
