When history is the rest

​In the shadows I stand, hoping some day she’ll remember,

Remember the things that we used to be. 

And that we aren’t free, 

Not from each other, so as to speak.

It is unnatural, don’t you think,

Freeing yourself from a loved one?

If you had to free yourself, 

you were never actually bound,

Just the illusion hound.

Binding is not what we wanted to flee.

It was a phase, 

We didn’t have to agree.

Moments then felt like a lifetime and a lifetime felt too long,

The distance between us 

stretched out like a heartbroken song

(seriously, sometimes they are painfully long)

We caught ourselves down in the  pursuit to forget,

Falling deep into an abyss, 

Carefully steering clear of regret…

Time’s a healer and space the medicine, they said,

Well, a daunting task lay ahead!

The components of this had me haunted

In my defence, they’ve ridiculed many a great mind in my stead.

Days were sleepless, nights alight,

Even the thought of us embracing each other turning into a long forgotten sight.

We weren’t strangers, we couldn’t be,

Meant to be is what they say,

Apparently it only seemed so to me.

I didn’t want a memory, we hardly created any, 

I wanted us to create history, 

And history it was.

For each our own,

In ways different more than many. 


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Someone who writes, just to write, nothing else.

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