Home in the City

I've traded my memories 

For the oblivion 

Of the space between happiness 

And sorrow.

To float.

Numb.

And in the shades of greys,

I heard voices

Of the ghost 

Retuning back.

And so my heart remembers

Those memories 

That I've sold a thousand forgotten times.

And in the glistening drops of rain,

A Hiraeth envelopes my soul.

Reminding me

That you were my home

In this busy City.

A Delicate Flash

 But we were never meant to burn,

Not even embers 

To keep warm

In the midst of the winter.

We were just a spark.

A fleeting moment of light.

Not even a smoke to trace

What once were.

We were a delicate flash.

A kindle too weak 

In the midst of a blow,

To even form a fire.

 There is a place 

In your heart 

Called abyss.

A place where thoughts are buried.

In oblivion.

But neither theories nor algorithms can explain,

How these lost memories 

Traces their way back.

Familiar and forgotten feelings.

Fragments of pain and bliss.

Mosaic and abstract.

Into one masterpiece...

Blended into distinct emotion.

Peace with My White Dress

 And in the silence of the night

I stopped screaming.

And I whispered in the most sincerest 

And tranquil way with the wind - 

"I forgive you".

Absquatulated with my supposed to be fate,

Time doesn't chase me anymore.

I've made peace with my white dress a long time ago

Anymore

 But does being strong makes you happy?

Does your scars makes you braver than before?

Does the past and the memories makes you feel nostalgic?

That even the ghost that you're most afraid of

Doesn't make you shiver anymore. 

It can haunt you but you're not scared anymore.

 We created lots of memories

Without a story.

Somewhere all along we lost the magic of making beautiful tales.

Myths of love yet untold.

Blended with pain and chaos.

Somewhere all along.

We die unrequited and unknown.

Algorithms

 And in the midst of grey

There you are standing,

Between the space

Of memory and oblivion.

A tormenting phase

Of tristesse.

Moving forward...

Breathing...

Beating...

But the heart can still be unlock

By your algorithms.

But if we are to collect stones, how will we know which one to throw?

And if we are all graphites, how will we know which one will turn into diamonds? 

 But somewhere

In a distant parallel 

We are ourselves 

But the better versions 

Having the impeccable closure

Painful 

Peaceful 

Beautiful.