Despite all of what could have been,
The urban-scapes surrounding her and me between,
The vast special human beauty I’ve seen,
Of our touch mimicking the TV screen,
The Lankan girl—the greatest girl for me,
Whose own love would go for years umpteen,
In visions only, but beautiful ones albeit,
Of which that, and ticked boxes, told me she’s the one to keep,
It didn’t occur the difference of reality would be so steep.

The very secret that my eyes would keep,
Maybe caused my heart—though squeezed—to not bleed,
Through my clothes the truest reds did not seep,
As I again, generously, moved across to her side of the seat—her street,
Kissed her lips; fed her, nourished her; held her for sleep.

Her morning messages, ‘Ohayo love’; she was that sweet,
Other fond memories: too many, too deep,
From this girl I wish I loved;
Inside dreary Melbourne heaven, dark busy roads had glistened by sleet,
There, where the young, knowing, aspiration-lit would meet,
I wish it were me—
But my heart always knew: in the car it didn’t speak,
That the beautiful girl——it wasn’t meant to be;
(Perhaps, echoing of such shot my feet)
I hugged her twice in case it was the last we meet.

And now I’m alone again—sad, once missed her so steep,
The one girl I had been so nervous to meet,
We’d only been shy three weeks,
My wise heart is a curse; but enough about me.
The girl is another, I’ll miss, remember fondly—
She always wore goth and black, meowed like she was a cat—
And forever, it shall be,
Another walking these streets,
But whose memory, at times will come,
And gracefully, there in them, she’ll once again breathe,
Providing life onto me.

The dark ocean flows over her scratched and calloused feet,
As she faces the black horizon: far from what I've seen.
But what she sees are the stars, and a distant ferry catching light;
The silver traces, all around us, will bring her solace for the evening's plight.

Calming: the aqua at her feet... but also the black liquid in one hand—
Of which poisons her knowingly; at times it's cruelty from a rich white man.
But the 'baby needs her bottle', she'd say; sleep would ask for 'zero *****'.
Normal is this: her lines drawn in the sand, of change, ebbed away by the flux.

The woman works hard, through traumas, to provide a life for she and her son,
And it's clear—to me, that life ******* her, in many more ways than one.
Abused by the very worst, and she's never experienced a 'home', she'd cry,
Whilst drunk inside her enabler's one, of which her rent's paid at some point in time.

But she's a 'normal' person: her good heart, art dreams, and brains led her to be seen,
And now, I know it would break me if she were one day swallowed by the sea.
Despite our bond's submergence, by hidden rocks, its specialness I'll keep in heart;
And those promises I've made, I'll follow, no matter how far we go apart...

I'll always be there for her, if ever sought for in a time of need.
There's a place to roost if ever she travels, most of which's perks are free.
I'll be a fully-fledged counsellor, helping those, like her, find their feet.
Lastly—of myself—I'll continue writing, for the joy and love it brings is deep.

To the sound, of his music;
When it plays, my heart goes quiet.
Someday, I’ll spread my wings and kick through this door;
As far as that.

But, don't you feel this emotion of dread, though?
When you follow it.
It's turning me, 'round again, and I'm back to where I'd just started:
Wondering, what I am.

Well, say it's been a while, since I've been this way.
About each choice I can make, but the stress never ends.
Well, say it's been some time, since I've had this thing inside of me,
That there's just not enough time...

…to chase all of my dreams.
That there's a special need in me.
That there's a place I should be, rather than here…
And it's always calling me...​

Beyond some window’s reflection,
Sits the girl with pink hair and kitten nails,
Who’s a woman wearing a well-laid suit, with her advancing high-brow-ness,
And I wonder, if this was a long time ago,
What I would miss

I’m grateful for meeting someone like this.
Typed so on the phone; waited with fair embarrassment.
Did she value a boy with ideals, who talked?
Stumbled words and sayings, but tried; like she.
Kindness led our overarching efforts to establish a connection.
We laughed, spoke quite serious; it went hand in hand.
Rewarded with her prettier smile on many-a-occasion…
Said she was different, more calmed around me—less ’socialite’!
But maybe that’s ‘cause I'd been nervous.
Opaque eyes made any mental connection hard.
We were different people; oh well.
Had believed she wasted her time, but then she finally replied,
She had a lovely night, which made her lovingly smile.

So, will I miss the time I walked in the door?
Seeing her sitting;
I turned from its glass back handsomely with a smile,
For the woman with the pink hair, and kitten nails,
Her head well *******-on, and heart kind, patient, good—perfect.
Multiply rich but opaque; I had a chance (albeit slim).
But anyway, such is an experience that can be cherished,
And, for she, be held some places in my life thereafter;
And will, ‘cause I’m the sentimental kind.
That doesn't let anything die.

You won’t know her from a picture, and some words underneath,
Or from a glance at a supermarket, or two, or four.
To really know, most people spend their time on hairline chances,
And I assume, some people think it’s worth just letting go.
That life’s not like how it is in stories; ones I've cherished.
But stories that were once worth telling.

For me, she has to do something,
Or vice versa: I have to do something:
An action says a lot about one’s heart.
So, I'll do things with love.
Stick down this path, that's meaningful.
And the one soul,
Of the few who’ve stayed in my life,
Will be the one,
And forever she’ll have my faith.

In making up for lost time,
Towards my dream, years-long,
Of many New Year's–gone resolutions,
I've made only a tiny step, in comparison to others,
But a step forward, nonetheless.

'Cause I had to breathe, and I've been unfolding into many, newer, earthier paths.
I've had my struggles, of consistent lengths, and had to clear those dark clouds.
Today I stand on firmer ground.
Grounds that I want firm for everyone.

The mountain of my book is very tall and long,
But no matter it, nor the length of my stride: I'm moving forward again.
Towards those things I love the most, and of which, their end isn’t certain.

My room is at the end of this corridor…
There are a lot of things in my room…
But my room key is missing,
I don’t know know where it is…
I don’t know…

When I entered my room alone.

My room is at the end of this corridor…
There are a lot of things in my room…
But my room key is missing,
I don’t know know where it is…
I don’t know…

When I entered my room alone.

It is the best, to break through the door!