A sense of loss clings to our bones, loss of the hours that swept our feet like tides, like time that waits for no one, like a day out of time. Despite of the ash cold remnants in our palms, we try to reach out for the green ray of an impossible hope.
Sometimes, the answer lies in accepting the end of the road, in making peace with the truth that all of us are meant to live with our set of incomplete stories because reciprocity is a lie, in ignoring every voice that beckons us towards the wretched promises of "forever".
There are little worlds inside our head, dark lanes adorned with wilted flowers that howled out a name. We stare out of the ram-shackled cabin's windows as the world gets drenched in a perpetual rain.
The sense of loss flutters louder than ever. The 'never again's", the stubborn thumping before the submersion continues. The chances that we never take, the effortless mistakes, the assumptions, the weight of unspoken words, forgotten conversations inscribed on our flesh, the concluded sigh's of rainy evenings, a thousand wishes, a million possibilities..
Sometimes, the answer lies in accepting the end of the road, in making peace with the truth that all of us are meant to live with our set of incomplete stories because reciprocity is a lie, in ignoring every voice that beckons us towards the wretched promises of "forever".
There are little worlds inside our head, dark lanes adorned with wilted flowers that howled out a name. We stare out of the ram-shackled cabin's windows as the world gets drenched in a perpetual rain.
The sense of loss flutters louder than ever. The 'never again's", the stubborn thumping before the submersion continues. The chances that we never take, the effortless mistakes, the assumptions, the weight of unspoken words, forgotten conversations inscribed on our flesh, the concluded sigh's of rainy evenings, a thousand wishes, a million possibilities..
