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Alone in the room,
my hands are stained
with poetry.
She is the sky above but you look at her through the waters beneath.
You thought that you knew her well by doing that.
But the truth is, all you ever looked at is your own reflection.
You never tried too look up and gaze at the sky and the horizon.
You never knew the depth in its vastness.
You never knew what brightens it.
You never knew when it is enveloped with darkness.
You never knew why it rains.
You never knew how rainbows appear.
You never knew its true colors.
You never saw the sky.
For you never looked at it.
You never saw her as the sky
For you never looked at her.
How can you even say that you saw her when you didn't even try to look at her, eh?

(Written on September 17, 2016)
This is a year of a hundred poems thought of but were never written and were left behind until everything was forgotten.

A year when I held a pen  along with millions of ideas but ended up with a scribble that I just drew out of my consciousness.

A year of letters written by my bleeding heart and tired soul but were never given, never delivered to whom it is due.

A year of typed messages with my sweaty and shaking hands that ended up being deleted and never sent to someone I'm longing for.

A year of flowing tears filled with my inner agony that left my pillow wet, left my cheeks with its trail, and left my heart aching with so much pain.

A year of things left unsaid, words that will never be heard  by anyone  in the face of the earth except for my reflection on the mirror as I cry out to myself.

A year of promises that weren't fulfilled for its not supposed to be done yesterday, now or maybe the entire time.

A year of hugs that weren't felt, nor touched, nor reached the person I wanna give the warmth of love and care.

A year when a thousand different scenarios played on my mind, but  remained there and didn't happen in the reality where I'm living.

A year of feelings that are hidden and kept buried in the deepest part of my heart but hasn't died or even faltered in a slightest way.

A year of regrets that remained as it is because I'm afraid of trying, afraid of failing. Or rather, I'm terrified of taking the risk for I don't want to feel more pain.

This is the year, the very first year, when I  truly learned the word lonely; learned that I am lonely.

This year is ending soon enough, but I still haven't done or said a single thing that might take away all the 'what ifs' in my brain.

This is how I've been for the year two thousand fifteen.

— The End —