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#Poetry. A searing expression of regret for all that could have been and what happened. A poem about loss and love.
I think this is where I live now but I’m not home
I’ve been asleep but I don’t feel rested
My heart stopped beating a long time ago but then why does it still ache?
Is it even possible?
But then I am a poor judge of possibilities
I didn’t think it was possible to love someone as much as I did
I didn’t think it was possible to trust the way I did
I didn’t think I would never go back home
I still don’t know why he left me here
On every call, every night, he had promised me a life of forevers
I picked each word, strung them together like a beautiful melody, replaying them later like my own precious composition
I hear no melody now, there’s no music anywhere
It’s dark, cold, damp
First I thought it was because of all the tears I had shed, waiting for someone to come
Then I realized it was the rain
They say the ground beneath our feet is buzzing with life, then why can I only hear the echoes of death?
I tried thinking of all the things at home that could keep me warm
A bushy moustache that could tickle out all my confessions, a little girl’s adoring eyes always trained on me, a stewing pot of food made with the purest of love and hugs that could melt mountains
But I’m still cold
I tried thinking of everything above this blanket of earth on me
The fireflies, the stars, the dandelions,
I just want to tell them
Fly and blaze because I never will
Shine and sparkle because I never will
Soar and glide in the gentle breeze because I never will
Mom, I’m sorry, for not listening to you
And for so much else
I wanted to grow up and take care of you but I’m far away now
So far away that I can’t even hear you calling out to me, over and over again
You must be strong
I don’t want you to keep crying in my empty bed
I don’t want you to hold on to my pretty pink dress
I want you to curl up your feet, rest and forget all the pain
It’s too late now, but I’ll always be your baby and some day we will meet again.
Editor’s note: This story had been shortlisted for the October 2017 Muse of the Month, but not among the top 5 winners.
Image source: pixabay
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Richa started her writing journey as a child, scribbling away poems and stories for her
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