Maybe it wasn't the force. Maybe it was just me shouting inside my head-how to be better regardless of what's going on around me.
The friction of challenges that cage me in the middle every time-still trying to see the aesthetics.
The acceleration of how fast i'm falling into the abyss of my mind after i stumble and couldn't get up because of the pain, fear, and regrets.
The constant changing world and time, as the people pass by-accepting the truth that'll never be revealed.
The touch of nostalgia that caresses my heart, remembering my youth that makes me want to drop what i have beneath my hold-as if it's easy to just relive those moments.
No matter how the time goes, we will all be the same, forever changing as we become history in one's story.
YOU ARE READING
Vestige
Poetrycal's bevy of forgotten notion, thoughts, and desultory passage through poetry and prose, as this vessel continue to withstand this realm's bullshit - credits to the owner of the image that i used for the book cover -
