she was lost in the apparitions of uncertainties
where fragments of her being slowly fall like those
petals of red roses once given to her by the man
she only loved when she was still young and
vigorous and beautiful;
she can still hear the loud, inscrutable silences
of people waiting for the train as if the antidote
for their long-suppressed emotional  regressions
depend on this vehicle where the inevitable
cycle of coming and going makes them question
their existence—yet,
after all the nuisances this world offers
she always finds herself lost in a swarm
of human beings whose souls continuously wander
for the enigmas of truth and shades of faith only
for the reason that in the process of losing herself she
could find herself—once more.
she always wonders what lies within the eyes
of people whose lives she randomly intersect with that
made her feel alive. she felt that in
letting herself get lost in places people normally crossed;
one by one she was getting a portion of herself
from their souls—
the paradoxes of their expelled breaths;
their incessant internal monologues;
their bittersweet afflictions;
the achingly pleasurable warmth of their skin;
the vulnerability of their voice;
the resiliency of their hearts;
and the combination of their grotesque yet
picturesque visions in her eyes— that made her whole.
she was standing in the middle of nowhere; oblivious
of her world’s  existence when she remembered
the reason why she forgot to redeem the love from those petals
of red roses she buried within the pages of her favorite book.
with the moonlight showering upon her being, she felt the
rapture from her heart as it slowly knocks and awakens
her soul with certainty— like a lost child coming home at last.

*06.21.16