maybe if I try to write,
I would feel sincerity again,
drowning into the pages and lines
of truths and fallacies,
maybe if I learn how to dance,
all doubts will shed along with pain,
maybe if I sing a song,
I can compose and express but not to please
maybe if I paint an artwork,
I would accept having you as my lovely subject,
in sceneries of memories, at the stroke of tender nostalgia
maybe if I interfere in the duel of both my mind and heart,
one takes over freely and I venture a new start.

but who am I to even stand armor-less,
battling against the uncertainties?

IA