the slow art of breathing bitter

I'm Still Trapped In A Dark Mystery

Thinking if I could ever return,

many roads did I not travel.

I stayed a little long,

in this besieged prison of illusion,

and when I was about to stand,

I realized 

it was too late.

I realized I got stuck

between a long waiting and non-remembrance.

My heart was too heavy to stand though

You have grown like a tree inside my heart.

The canvas of the past 

and the background of the present,

blank and gray—

the oil painting is yet to be created.

And so, what new to ask for

in this slow-moving life?

A person like me, 

at the end of the day,

the soft glow of the diffusing sun on his face,

would come to know how I am.

Because now, this tree who promised to stay with me,

has forgotten its soil—

I have seen the separation,

yet I was helpless, I couldn't hold you back.

I was afraid not of your return,

but if I'd be able to trust you again.

I'm afraid if I'd be able to get out of this trap  ever

Because I know I'm still trapped

between my spring and your horizon—

a dark mystery.

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A/N: Well, I do trust you, readers. Why not gift me some votes? I'd send you muffins in return! *hopeful grin*