free verse

Still here.

There goes your heart- forgetting the world’s advice, still beating after his breaths, still melting at his gaze.

There goes your heart, attaching itself to places it is not welcome. 

He does not love you. 

But there goes your heart- beating for this love. Beating for both of you.

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When I Write, It Doesn’t Always Make Sense

I know, I’ve never been good at writing coherent stories or poems that make sense. But when I write, it’s always after a hurricane–of events, of thoughts, of emotions..

And I write as fast as I can because whatever comes out after the big explosion of emotions and life…whatever I write then, will be the rawest version of the story.

It’s the version that I may not understand at all. It’s the version I know came from heart and not from a pool of vocabulary to impress. It’s the version that is real.

The stories I write are incoherent. I know.

But how else do we ever fathom what happens in life than to write and write and write..

Until we see the constellations.