Is it me who is doing great?
Or that past version of mine?
Cause when I visit those old stances again,
It becomes the place I found peace in,
When I visit those paragraphs again,
They feels like home as if someone's out their who knows me,
Is it now when I'm wiser,
Or was it that version of mine which was wiser?
Was it that person so loving, so kind, so giving but life had been ruthless to her,
Or is it me now?
So ruthless that life mould itself in my ways?
Wander whether this times were good,
Or these ones?
All I know is today I'm living,
That time I was daydreaming but still I know I had done my best.
That girl has done enough and I'm so proud of her.
YOU ARE READING
Whisper Of A Silent Heart: Loving And Romanticising
Poetry"My love was as cruel as my nightmares, and it was as beautiful as my daydream, which never dare to turn itself into reality, neither did it ever ended like a daydream, the agony kept hanging me like that of half hope, the hope kept hanging me like...
