Sometimes, I can’t help but wonder if I’m a manifestation of someone’s imagination. Or dreamt by one in deep slumber Trapped by a spell they are under.
Often I feel invisible; There are few who really see who I am when they look at me. Though far from being miserable, I find my world more mystical.
Trembling, wrecked, broken into two, I stand here, alone, in the rain, Waiting to be whole again. I know I need to start anew. So, at last, I let go of you.
NaPoWriMo Day 1 Poetry form : Quintella http://madhumitas.wordpress.com/2014/04/01/petrichor/
