𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡

I stare at those texts unblinking, seeing how I get long paragraphs from people who got too attached as per their claim. Long already letting go before the goodbye exists.

And yet I do not feel an ounce of emotion reading that.....

The mystic moon tells me

that I sail in your thoughts.

It whispers of the flowers

you once brought.

And the more I speak

to the mystic moon,

the more I find myself

beginning to swoon.

Days have passed,

flowers have bloomed,

seasons have changed—

yet still, I talk to the mystic moon,

because it tells me

I still sail in your thoughts.

Today feels like I'm going back to my childhood, the hum of the ac, the way the wind blows, the sun light filtering through the tree leaves. That icecream seller uncle standing near the crossroad with kids surrounding him, the familiar tune and honk it has.

It's weirdly so nostalgic, living today feels like I'm awake in nostalgia.

The human yearning capacity really amazes me.

I wish to read every alphabet of your language so my love reaches you,

I wish you would feel the love even if it means a little.

I wish to be someone unbothered, nonchalant but how can I be? When all I have ever wished was you.

I wish for you to feel the love in your language, in your native so you do not feel alone.

I wish the warmth embraces you on cold nights providing the comfort even your blanket failed.

I wish to see you grow, fall, fail, conquer, in all your happiness, glory, tragedy, awkward glances.

I just wish you.

To see me soft, mushy, dramatic and in every shade

I can't show all of me to people, I don't want to

I never liked the idea of people knowing me well enough unless it's someone I let in my walls

Not every soul is meant to be read by everyone

For some it's just a passerby signs, to some haunting nightmares, and to a few a novel they would read on a summer vacation in their grandparent's home.

| Excerpts from the texts I've sent |

The unexplainable that goes within

Comes out in these mere words

Seething in melancholy, love or wrath

But what you see is just a Tarn to the deep void of an ocean

Paying more attention to things around me than usual. Like how the leaves rustle, their shadows playing around. Those fluff clouds navigating their way blurring my mind, turning from soft cotton to pink floss . My mother makes tea in the evening and takes the first sip of it as the orange hues from the window leave a cast on her, the breath she releases satisfied after drinking her favourite tea. I wonder why I never paid so much attention then now?!