The misconstrued melody of his flute from the brokenness it said,
I never quite understood the meanings of worst and best
Whether it was the outcome, the consequence or the process?
I always wished you weren't just a lesson from an untaught test,
But the name in the byline and the epigraph in my synopsis
In my defense, despite my undeniable clear convictions
My graceless let go's, were the mere destination of my addiction
When I didn't know letting go was the way forward, or just patience
But all I knew was the implementation were the problems to my solutions
And that everything graved remained engraved, synonymous to my intentions
Just like the clock hands, momentarily waving goodbye
I was all over you like the stopped tick over a moment defined
It were the perennial occurrences of our moments dying
Didn't know if my meant-to-be's grew or withered with time
The mere sight of the afterward was just a distant sigh
It was the patterns of change that always remained the same
Just like the feelings and seasons, ending to happen again
I knew timelessness was the last page of the story except that the book remained
And that was the scribbled definition of a forever in my narrative
That hope was just a happiness to be, when it was meant to be in the present
My skilled craftsmanship of this tale, still defied the epiphany
That the cards in my hand have never looked predictable so subtly
When the ending of everything was the end, except the journey
Didn't know what was scarier, the temporariness or it's inevitability
After all, those yellow paged romances become classics, and not histories