the path is ever so long,
crunched,
but you still stand tall,
hunched.

forgive no more you said,
crushed,
but i say forgive and forget,
hush baby, hush.

i will do everything to improve myself, yes.

but more importantly, i hope you will not disappoint me too.

maybe the documents, two feet of height,

isn’t really vile after all.

.

maybe the screeching tones of the small blackberry,

isn’t as horrid as life would be.

.

the two brightly lit notebooks by my side,

are even slightly more appreciated by now.

.

the pages of the TIME magazines,

screaming mad at me,

waiting to be touched,

waiting to be appreciated,

waiting to be admired.

unfortunately,

i do not own time at all.

ironic, isn’t it?

.

honestly?

it shreds my patience,

it shreds my faiths,

it shreds my life,

like a paper shredder working at its very best.

.

yearning to see those of similar kin,

looking over my head,

watching me,

giving me strength and warmth,

especially on a cold, frosty winter night.

.

the paper is slowly burnt,

beginning from the core,

spreading to the very sides,

curling up into a black ball,

of nothingness.

.

as i write this story in a different way,

each stroke with a different pen,

i pray for a letter, word or sentence,

to show how different it would be than what is believed,

to show what it means to me,

to show what i really want,

and to show that it was a mistake no more.

.

pray for me, will you?