It was a million times that I thought of confessing my love to you, that maybe my honesty could be the pull of gravity that steadied your feet on the ground.
It was a thousand times that I reckoned of begging you to stay, that a vow of not saying goodbye would end all my worries – the kind of fear that broke out wars.
It was a hundred times that I pondered of doing an apology; that my being sorry could amount to the times I've doubted our love just because of our differences, that all my winter white and all your blinding black could smolder into a smudge of charred grey.
But it was only once that my words found the flimsy voice to say "don't die" and made the most sense – two words that were more worthy than the myriad things I have failed to say - that I'm utmost glad to have failed to say.
Don't die – a humble promise that made up for all the days I'll never get to be with you, the daily reminder assuring me that you'll come back. A flash of resplendency. A sigh of relief. For now every time I'd look up at the sky I would see you, not in the grave of dead stars, but in the mesh of clouds, sitting as the lone sun who chose to stay alive.
A/N: A resounding applause to Descendants of the Sun and its magic of bringing me back to writing. You are all my reasons right now.
YOU ARE READING
Paper & Ink |#Wattys2016|
Poetry"I am the black on white; the ink on paper." A collection of my nightly thoughts and daydreams. Highest rank: #5 in Poetry. Please enjoy reading and find a friend in one of my works. :)
