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Perhaps because there
is a tale to tell
about thoughts I chased.
One after another,
and after one that's crushed,
lost and gone
to wind.

Perhaps to breathe,
to laugh, and to cry

Or perhaps to be found.
Maybe I'll write a pretty poem one day,
One that makes the readers
Remember the tortured poets
That lies in some forgotten corners
Laced with delicate cob webs

Maybe I'll write a pretty poem one day,
One that  whispers warm embraces
to some hearts frozen somewhere
If there is one thing
that I hated,
It would be waiting.
Though I know
It could take endless,
I find myself
dwelling in consolation
of taking a step,
then a leap
of faith.
i dont know why
i'm always lied to.
when you came,
with pure intentions you said
and said the same when you left
because you needed to be honest.
If relationship were like baking
We are flour
Just like how it is sifted
Lumps and bits  are recognized in the
Middle of sifting or the end
Our only difference is that
We are both
Ball of lumps in the beginning
Scratching, rubbing, bumping
Against each other
Trying to figure out
How to get through
The same sieve,
To see how much impurities
Of ourselves we need to get rid
And how much of us
From scratch we can save.
"Loss" is a thing with stingers
That stings the soul
And wails the tunes in silence-
And never goes away-
At all.

"Time" is its best companion
For some other time,
the aches are much much more
To make you bend and curl.
And there are times,
life's appetite is dull and slouchy
But most likely
you'll get up and carry on...
Cheer up now, being too little in the eyes of people is nothing compared to what your thumb can do,
Always remember that you can make a moon disappear at the back of your thumb in just a wink of an eye.

So when you feel that you're of less importance, that's nothing to be really scared of.
There  are few things little things that we don't often see its worth but cause unimaginable destruction, Just like how a tiny dew drop
and a distant sun ray from the sun can burn a whole forest.
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