sometimes i think about how everyone grows old some day. i shall, too. i will watch as beautiful petals wither into a colour similar to dusk, just starting to blend in with the night. I'll open my eyes once more, and realize the sun has already set. looking around me, the fall of night has just begun-- the only witnesses of warm sunlight that once graced the skies, the bequeathed stars above. they looked similar. familiar. and perhaps, I'll miss the feeling of warmth hit my skin, as the sun guaranteed the presence of glow. though, for now, I'm just a teenager in her room, doing the things she does.

and for now, the sun still illuminates the sky.

I've been finding myself more
in the arms of uncertainty and nostalgia lately.
Its warmth cascades down my back
like hair made of gold and silk,
draping its familiarity over me
in the form of weary exhaustion.

And yet, when I get too close,
it holds me painfully tighter;
or pushes me away.
Forcing me to feel the dreary shiver
of winter all over again.

Perhaps this affinity surmised
was nothing more
than a suffocating disguise;
its hands holding mine
as if they were akin
to the bequeathed stars above.

I intend to abandon its presence,
as it did to mine;
but then I find it knocking
on my door once more.
And what else shall I do,
than let it in?

The stars that once graced the nights,
Now seemed lifeless and forgotten;
For my hands stained with crimson,
Dripped with the imperceptible reverie
Of long gone, triumphant feelings.

I sometimes hope
in the midst of wakeful nights,
that the peace we all look for
is perhaps something like
a kind, quiet embrace
where I can close my eyes,
letting my mind go blank
and step into a world of solace.

I hope that it would feel
like the soft crackle of fire
on a harsh, winter night,
the warmth consoling the cold
I've felt for decades;

Or perhaps that it's the quiet hum
of a lullaby I once knew by heart,
and allows me to slip
into the blurred lines
between life and eternal rest.

As tears pour out relentlessly,
a cold ember of desperation
fills my aching lungs,
desperate for a fraction of warmth
that the once lit flame provided.

The water pulls me in deeper,
scattering the pathetic remnants
of the depths of devotion,
that ache for you.

And as sunken eyes
akin to the bequeathed stars above,
call out your name through the
torments veiled by moonlit waters,

The silent sea cradles
what now are just chronicles,
of my drowning woe.

As the ephemeral night passes on,
flourishing beneath the moon's luminescence,
the will to survive in this constant place
referred to as 'home',
goes along with it.

Just close your weary eyes
and feel the demise
become one with your veins,
as your heart drips
with transcended oblivion.

The feelings you once harboured
have now departed from the shore,
the forgotten waves
coming to an unavoidable end.