• petrichor_tales 68w

    And if this was a day
    like any another,
    I would have stopped
    my words from escaping my heart
    bottled it up
    half empty
    in a crumpled paper
    for it to collect dust
    and spiders would make it their home.
    It would change it's colours
    from white to ivory and even brown
    The words would fade
    and the ink would corrode
    until finally one day I'd pick up
    the duster and clean up my room.
    You would ask me where my
    letters and metaphors
    went to and I'd point
    at the dustbin
    you'd pause and ask if thats where
    all my incomplete feelings
    ended up in
    and I'd smile

    My answer would be a vague 'yes?'
    I'm not a writer neither am I a poet
    I'm an actor posing with a box of lexicon
    e v e n l y spaced out so as not to cause
    a readers attention to slip away, before they
    notice how his words have started to take
    form, but then it never held meaning, did it?

    You'd slowly walk up to me
    hug me tight
    breathe a sigh of relief
    and then walk away
    to the door
    just before I expected
    you to disappear,
    turn around and ask me something
    "Then why do you smell of burnt papers and hopes?"

    P.C: Pranav Kumar Jain (Unsplash)
    Edit: myself

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