Let thy river flow
and wash all painful twigs
thy heart had been torn with.

You are may black crayon

the one I always use
to paint
my darkest nights.

the only color
that could match
through all my
messy moods.

the one I always
run at
when all that is visible
are most painful
in the eyes.

All fake smiles
I lost the count
whenever I see
someone love
loving
someone else.

She loved him
and he didn't had
any idea.

What's the saddest?

He knew
and she didn't had
any idea.

I have never been
so honest to myself
until the moment
I have learned
to acknowledge
how I truly felt
for him.

It was pure
and real
full of colors
and suddenly
all blacks.

You said I was rare
and finally
I found the reason
why I always longed
not to be attached

All that is rare
I suppose is a stone-
not to be melted
but to burst.

You just proved it
the moment
you walked out
the same door
you promised not
to leave footprints out.

We do not read epilogues
in the middle of conflicts
nor when characters
are torn apart

We bleed when they
fall apart

and our hearts
die to be reborn
either with hope
or emptiness.

that's when a breather takes place-
an epilogue that
makes us more
of how the ones we met
and part ways with
built us anew.