You, who left with
Dots on your laces
From all the colours
Spilled on our faces.
You, with who I
Walked a night
And watched cars
Become lines of light.
You, whose gravel voice
Fell and rose
With an old love song
From phones clutched close.
You, who left with
All my rainclouds,
Still play with the rain
In roads of strange crowds.
You, who still writes
Rhymes to past winters' chills,
Still can't do much to heal
This summer's burns
And heart spills.
P.S: Though I haven't updated the blog in very long, I have been writing on and off. I don't really know why I didn't publish any of them here. But here is one and I hope I will keep coming back to this blog and writing into this comforting space of radio silence.
