Have you ever thought why I blocked your number? I hope you’ll find the answer and stop calling or texting But, you don’t get it I’m frustrated
Guess who’s the real simp? Who can’t move on? I used to think that it was me I asked myself: “was it feeling or a well? how could it be so deep?”
I want to love you for one more time For the sake of a reason to wake up every morning Or why I should dress up and smile more But, I realized that you look like my mistakes that I don’t want to repeat
I couldn’t help hearing your conversation with a middle-aged man in a stall when I passed by on Sunday at 6 am. Seems like you left your anxiety and regret to be written on an article that released at a homepage even though it couldn’t be the headline. I would like to join, but, I just kept myself away from you and started to make a new conversation because I didn’t know if it was true or just an assumption that played in my head.
I remember when you visited my veranda few days ago, you ordered a poem. Were you joking? And these verses were created, with or without you read it.
Another day you asked me “when”, when it could be an ambiguity, between literal meaning or just a metaphor. Because in a pandemic wave, red zones, restrictions and the death that stalks us even more, the question of “when” is about mystery, prediction and uncertainty.
The distance that we can reach through a screen, my words are announcement without voice but heard by you on the other side which I hope is fine.