How did we ever cross paths?
Couldn't you have just passed me by?
Another unnamed person gone with no goodbye?
A multitude of reasons keeping me up as I wonder why.
Thrown together on plain canvas,
As imperfect as they came,
A weird mess of what wasn't meant to be,
People meant to fade, forgotten was every name.
Perhaps fate was bored,
Of just being smitten,
We were poetries,
Waiting to be written.
~Dishashree Swain✨
YOU ARE READING
Into The Black Hole
PoetrySometimes, pain becomes peace. Eureka! He's an oxymoron.It's been almost over eleven months; six months when it got way too critical, but I've been evolving and growing up out of it. It means much less to me now, and again, it keeps reminding me th...
