
I tell myself stories about
why I threw away all that I had,
or why everything was taken away from me.
How I was too weak, will always be too weak
to carry the weight of the gifts that I had.
Or how I was never quite convinced
that I had something to be proud of.
How I was always trying to gauge
how much deep my feelings ran
for everything that I could only sort-of-love.
I can list all similar attempts
where I sought a better quantitative understanding of my specialness
and used these unreliable results to decide how and when to give up.
But if I had to give one consolidated story of
why I was never a failure at anything,
why I never succeeded,
why I had nothing to show for the years I lived
or for the talents that people remember me for.
If I had to be concise and true
I would say
I never made those decisions,
I was never aware of how I felt about
all the things that bother me now.
I drifted away from what I was, from what I treasured,
the way dear friends lose touch, lose each others name,
lose a happiness they could have had.
Only to be reminded of this loss
when it no longer matters.
This is so beautiful and so real. It definitely comes from deep within and this resonates so much to me.
I am so glad to know that you liked my work π Nothing makes me more happy than to know that my work and my feelings are relatable to another person.
Thanks a lot π
You are such a wonderful writer. And loss is like that, coming back to us after it ie long gone.
Thank you for such kind words π means a lot π
You are kindly welcome π
This is beautiful, yaar!
Thank you so much yaar ππ