"Say it!" I'd scream, "Please! Please!",
Begging your brain to compose the words that stucks on the tip of your tongue,
Choked by your own uncertainty,
Your mind is flooded with doubt and dilemma.
And all we do is waiting,
With no one endeavored to break the stubbornness,
Waiting for one another to shrink the selfishness in ourselves,
Waiting for one another to find our voices,
Yet no words come out,
That should be as easy as blinking.
So we keep waiting till the time will be expired,
And we will be drained, and the fathomable words will be left unspoken, charred among the lies.
And someday you'll find yourself in regret, and tears, and finally be able to say it, to no one, to the wind,
"I Love You".
This one is an impulse as well, and this made me think if everything is an impulse. I wanted to say "Forgive this poetry" if you're dissatisfied. But then, isnt a poetry is a way to express feelings where there is no right or wrong?