"i wanted to write a story since a long time, with the words itching in my veins and my every breath reeked of the sweet stench of love. love. it can be the arrow that pierces your heart or it can be the balm, and in my story, it was both.
i don't have an exact plot for this story of mine.
it is something akin to jumbled thoughts, jumbled memories and endless kisses and hugs. it is filled with prayers and hope that still linger on my fingertips. perhaps, this story is mine, or it is one of yours, or it is one of many to come. if the shoe fits, you wear it, but in this story of mine, there is something special, it is me being a writer, so i'll forever ink you on those pages until the stars fade from the sky.
in this story of mine, we met each other when summer was kissing winter a new beginning, a new sunrise with dewy mornings and the cheery chirpings of the birds. it was when the sun was kissing the shadows of the buildings around us that i fell in the brown irises of your eyes.
you had forgotten how to smile at that time, and from where i was standing, beneath the canopy of golden hours, the weight of life was around you and you tried to hold yourself together, from breaking down underneath the sunset sky. and when goodbye came for this short lapse of time, you craned your neck until the world blurred around us and it was just you stretching your hand forward to be grasped in my warm embrace. so i stepped forward and held your gaze, until the distance stretched between us. i wish i could say that you became a memory under the golden hues and wintery sparks, but you took permanent resident inside my chest.
you built a home for yourself out of memories and now, those memories still haunt me.
in this story of mine, you are still holding my hand while we stand on the pavement with memories around us.
but in my story, i have fear around us, hovering above my chest, so i tighten my hold on your hand and you only hiss. because in love, you hurt and you heal. so I look down and i wonder, which one did i do the most, healing or the damage? So i inhale and the onyx specs inside my veins seem to be bigger now. for i can do nothing but loath and love.
in this story of mine, i don't have an exact plot.
i am a wanderer of memories and you became my muse. in this story of mine, we made promises when the night was happy and you said you are bound to keep yours. fear hovers above my chest, and i wonder how many promises i can keep. how much more damage did i do? how much more damage should i do? i wonder. and i keep on wondering until my chest ache. but amidst all of these, my love for you knows no boundary.
if tomorrow comes, tell them, she loved me like there was no tomorrow"
YOU ARE READING
Half a heart
Poetryif tomorrow comes, tell them, she loved me like there was no tomorrow [ lower-case intended for aesthetic purposes ]
