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Jun 2020
the guitar riff
strums my heartstrings ,
plucking and letting go
with the soft unmarred hands of a child.
time turns one last time
before this memory too,
fades
as half of my essence had before.
leaving my marred hand
with no story.
the child is a past self.
I am so scared of growing up and forgetting all these tiny miniscule details of the whole picture which is my life. I seem to be forgettinng everything, every story and i don't want to grow old with a hazy memory of what i  used to be before.
nishta
Written by
nishta  17/F/india
(17/F/india)   
  647
         ---, angelique, shamamama, Bijan Rabiee, Aparna and 15 others
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