I’m home alone.
In the end of a tragedy.
Memories of you pierces right through me.
Walking with you until the very end was all that I wanted.
We reached the end.

You are the one that got away,
Something that lingers on my mind all day.
Regret, sadness, and sorrow are what I feel,
Whenever I think that you are not real.

What could I have been?
There are things that can not be seen.
Dreams that no matter how hard I try,
I can not seem to take off and fly.

If things were a little different,
And I was not indifferent,
Will I be what I could have been?
Or will it still be a familiar scene?

You are the one that got away,
But do I really need to stay here all day?
Acceptance and happiness are what I aspire to feel,
Whenever I think that you are not real.

picking up feelings like grapes on a vine,
emotionally breaking down,
bottling it up,
and keeping it like wine.

bottled up emotions turn sour,
the longer it is kept,
the more acidic it gets,
perfect for drinking it at golden hour.

laying on the bed,
staring at the ceiling,
drunk on this feeling,
thinking when will this end.

waking up feeling worst than ever,
picking myself up,
looking at the mirror,
saying everything is fine to feel sober.

Where do broken hearts go?
Does anyone know?
Do they wander somewhere all alone,
In a restricted zone.
Perhaps in a coffee shop they stay?
Admiring people who come their way.
Do they look at the stars in awe at night,
Wondering when will everything be all right.
Do they just go with the flow?
Aimlessly living each day with woe.
Perhaps they stay in their homes all day,
Pushing people far away.
Wherever they are,
No matter how many their scars,
I hope they heal,
And tranquility soon they feel.

Voices of people giving unsolicited advices on how to live my life echo loudly as I make my way to the end of the tunnel; and yet, no light has been found, rather, the voices become deafening as I continue my journey.

I look around in the pitch black tunnel, the earsplitting noises continue, making me feel apprehensive. The thought of the unknown scares me and I care too much so I listen to these blaring voices, booming with every stride I make.

I stop walking, as if these thundering voices weren’t enough to make me anxious, I feel many pairs of eyes glaring at me in this blinding darkness, secretly amused by my feeble state.

Am I still far?
Will I reach it?
Will I make it out alive?
Will I bump into someone — anyone — who has a map and a flashlight to share?

I quiver as I cross my arms and continue walking, hoping that I would soon see the light at the end of what seems to be a never ending tunnel.