Memories lost in a letter
By night underneath the stars
I look upon them, thinking.

All these feelings in my head,
All these words left unsaid,
All of these memories with you in it, how can I ever forget.
All I see are fragments and pictures that clouds my judgements instead.
How can I be so worried?
When all I see is your face,
Clouding every shattered piece, a cold stare is left in your place.

All these feelings like lava,
Erupts when needed to burst
All of these feelings I can’t control,
And yet you’re the one holding my soul.
It glows a vibrant violet blue,
And while you hold onto mines,
I’m snuggling onto yours like an icy shield or more like an igloo.

All these feelings held by your warm embrace
tucking me away,
Forehead kisses telling all I need to know, that you got me, protected by your arms,
In a closed box, where no one can hurt me.

Collecting the shattered pieces that is called p
              o
                  e
                      t
                          r
                              y
                                   .
Painting a blank canvas is like diving in w
                                                                     a
                                                                  t
                                                              e
                                                          r
                                                      .
Creating a black hole that is called l
                                                            o
                                                               n
                                                                   e
                                                                l
                                                             i
                                                         n
                                                             e
                                                            s
                                                               s
                                                                   .
But the more I read and write, I call that my own fantasy.
                               .
                                   .

Raindrops
    Pour
        .
                   Dripping
                      Down
                       more
                           .
  I.        Am.      Soaked.     In.   My.  Form.