It pains my fingers
to write something I know I
have to write,
rather than the carefree bliss spent
over hours of
e n d l e s s
scrolling on time wasters.
Like this one, I know…

Almost everyday there is
regret
and remorse about
the things
should have done and that
should have been.
And

there has very little
been done about it.

So my days remain forgotten like the dusty old cloth bookmark hidden between a crevice on a vast bamboo bookshelf.