He was so in love
With the way she
Spun words
Scintillating with brilliance
To the point it became
An obsession
With how magic and wonder
Floated so effortlessly around her
And was oblivious to the fact that
He was caught,
Forever trapped in her web.

Sometimes I have to cry.
Not because I'm sad.
Not because I'm happy.
But because I live in a shaded grey.
Always in between and never touching the end of each extent.
And when I think of you,
I cry.
Maybe I cry because I'm not with you at the time.
Maybe I cry because I miss you.
Maybe I cry tears of relief,
Thanking this universe for giving me love like this.
Because I've been neglected.
And torn apart like paper.
Maybe I cry in fear of losing you.
Maybe I cry in fear of having you.
Maybe I cry to relieve my anxiety.
My anxiety from an unknown cause.
I never know why I cry.
Maybe I never will.
But maybe,
Sometimes I have to cry.
Just because my twisted mind enjoys the feeling of these sheer tears that are filled with so many emotions as they're strolling down my face.
These mixed, jumbled emotions I can't sort out.
Some people say that black and white is all they know,
But I never knew black and I've never known white.
But grey...
Grey has walked beside me for years
Letting me taste each extreme,
As if that ever benefitted me.
And I,
I always stay in this area of grey.
It's the only place comfortable for me -
Someone who has felt both sides of two opposite ends.
Cause if it would let me leave, it knows I'd remain here.
Not because I'm sad.
Not because I'm happy.
But because it understands
That sometimes I have to cry.
And I'll never have to give a reason,
Because I live in a foreign place of unmade up minds and mistakes.
This place I like to call grey.
Which has gave me a home to store my imperfections.

Your name
Resides in the crevices of my mind
Like the lyrics
To an old favourite song.
It's sweet, familiar,
And brings back memories.
I'll always enjoy humming its tune,
And smiling a wistful smile
Whenever it plays on the radio.

But just like an old song,
It has been replaced
By the upbeat dance music
I listen to now.
There are some words
I don't quite remember,
Some notes I can't hit anymore.

Most of all,
It lost the passion
I once got lost in.

"What's wrong with asking?
It's only a harmless question."

"It may be a harmless question,
But you may not get
A harmless answer."

She gave away
Pieces of her heart
Until she was only left
With a one tiny, broken piece.

For once
She is lost in books
Instead of
In his eyes.

Isn't it queer
How puppets,
Made of cloth
And button eyes
Can be so animated
And lively

While humans
Like myself
With a beating heart
And blinking eyes
Are too tired
To even smile?

Then again,
Puppets have
A puppeteer's hands
Working the magic
While I
Am dragging myself
Across the bumpy roads
Alone.

{a.s}