Is it fine,
if we find,
that in time,
this isn’t right.

I need somebody to right my wrongs.

Because I can only write my wrongs.

I do not know what poetry means.
But when I look hard enough, I see it everywhere.

This could have been a poem about hope; pigeon
Hoping that she would text first, or catch me looking at her
This could have been a poem about passion; fire
Holding her waist, as my lips touched hers
this could have been a poem about love; heart
Taking a longer route to school just because you wanted see her earlier every morning
This could have been a poem about finding reasons, to hold on during tough times
but it is not
there is no reason to hold on
because the love is gone.

Don't know if I am a plant turning into a tree
Or a person, into a zombie.

At first sight, she was going to be a nobody
Who knew what the future had for us
Time is elusive. Daily events are random occurrences
Or is it? What is random anyway?
Shuffling your music playlist isn't random
Algorithm.