What is it?
What is it about? Maybe it's about nothing, it has no meaning.
But it is felt. It exists and it is real. Why? Because it is there.
What is this?
It is in the brain, in the chest, in the stomach.
It feels like an impending explosion.
It is a source of suffering. And it is a source of joy.
Alone, it is the ugliest thing that can ever be felt. With someone, the highest thing that can ever be felt.
What is this?
"Love"?
That word, that overused cliche of human beings? Is this it?
Well. I feel i love her. But I never thought or even imagined that love would come like this, that it existed, that I could feel it.
It is new to me. And it is killing me, but it is keeping me alive.
Alone, but I have a desire of being with her. Obviously.
Why? Why now? Like this?
Why not a year ago? When she used to like me...it would have been easier, way easier.
Irony. Turns things around. Mischievous. Why?
Why?
Love. Is it?
Let me tell you:
I hate not being with her. I hate knowing she won't be with me. I hate knowing I can't be the guy in her pictures; that someone else is.
I love her. Her voice, her big, black, beautiful eyes, her lovely ears which she doesn't like, her nice nose, her little mouth, her soft cheeks, her long black hair.
I love how she laughs, how she dances even when there's not music playing, how she says I have no cheeks, how she laughs when I tickle her feet.
Well I just used the word love too much. And hate. They both are together, they explain what I feel.
This is awful. Just horrible.
I am her friend. "Loves" me like that.
Just horrible.

Tormented by his past
And by his open mind
This sad and tired young man
Did try at last and fast
To escape from real life.

Death of young sibling,
Elder brother’s absence,
Gore and agony
Experienced in the past
From a boy who jumped at last.

This is the basic background
Of Holden’s dreadful past
And he of twisted mind
He who feels hopeless
Holden is crying in the inside.

Children game recalled
The Catcher in the Rye
Wishing he was the one
Children’s worriless lives
When everything was alright.

They have been wandering
For they have been said.

Those words;
Six, and treacherous
Of nature
From his mouth;

Galloping, flying,
With the traits of the locusts
Which fast they come;
Fast they go
Leaving the trace but nothing more,
Of what it was
And is no more;

Flaming, spoken unto me
Six words flooding into me
Devoured from me all sanity.
All that remained...
Now, no more.