I've always wondered what it would be like
to not dream, to not think
of past or future affairs
just get on with life in itself
*
I’ve never had a chance for that
always chasing past loves
the ones that didn’t mean much
to others, yet stayed with me for a while
*
I’m sure they felt it too
yet external or internal circumstances
didn’t allow much involvement in this
feeling called love
*
it’s a shame really that I could always visualise clearly
building a life with them just by looking at them
their faces more familiar than any home
their insignificant presence imprinted on my heart
*
that now weeps after every doomed romance
happened mostly in my head
heart also involved, forgot its beat
so singular, so shallow, so shaky
*
but what is a single heart for
if only for the production of waterworks
building nothing, delivering nothing
only stories worth listening to, but not living
*
December 2022
***
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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Message Me Afterwards
>That was a bad idea. I thought you knew… >Oh, the pathos! I don’t really know you as well as I should. In fact, I may not know the real you at all. That essential, sparkling you that you only reveal to a select few. Had I been paying more attention to the stories you are so fond of telling, in which you are invariably author, narrator and protagonist, I would not have been so foolish as to set you up on a blind date. After all, no friend has ever done anything of the kind for another. That’s preposterous. What is a friend, really?
By D. J. Reddall5 days ago in Fiction
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