What is this game that we are playing?
Is history repeating itself once more?
Are you vanishing beyond reach again?
Are you heading back to me?

Or was that our last dance before we closed this chapter for good?

My heart was never rooted in you.
And still, it remains so.

But why does it feel like I was being stung by a bee for the first time?

I know better.
So why does my mind keep playing traitor?

Though you’ve vanished from my arms, my body still burns for your touch.

Over and over again.
You have me wanting.

You were never that special to begin with.
So why after almost a year.
I am still under your spell?

What have you done to me?

What have I done to deserve this abandonment?

I have lived without you.
And I can do it again.

He walked out on himself,
Left his book half-finished,
Buried deep within his shelf,
His skin burnt down to thinnest.
The pen was always his escape,
Then was it the pen, the paper or the reader
That made him forsake his escape?
The creator inked through its remaining life,
The vessel consoled the words under all eyes,
The receiver breathed meaning into the words,
Then who was it that discerns?
But...
What was his story...?
Was he reciting it...?
Or was it reciting him...?
Is he returning for his glory...?

i gaze up at the sky,
to see who I am.

i sit in stillness,
to discover who I am.

i stand before the mirror,
to confront who I am.

when time stands still,
the world blurs,
my heart-mind asks,
"who am I?
why am I here?"