It was then that I believed again,
that maybe after the fight, maybe after everything,
maybe if the storm has finished its symphony
everything would be as it should have been
Me, falling asleep, within your arms,
and you, trying to sleep within mine,
and us, trying to figure out whether it was love or not.
I didn't understand anything yet.
I didn't grasp the sight of your eyes through mine
or the wondrous melancholy of your personality.
I didn't do anything. I cannot do anything.
And at times, I fell prey to my darkness.
I further regretted the moment that I knew,
the moment when I thought I really knew
that I could possibly fall in love again,
and you can possibly give it back.
Yet you, as I knew, weren't like the others.
At times of misery, you appeared before me.
At times of darkness, you served as my light.
But I can't do anything still for you.
But even after everything, even after the symphony,
you grabbed my hand, and I followed
out of the storm, and into your heart.
That's when I believed again
This was my depression poem, the one that wishes for me to be saved. Whenever I feel down, I love reading this again and again because I was so in love at this time. I want to feel that feeling again.
It was only a matter of time that it did become a reality for me.