I was still close to it, even when you were two months old. I could still go back and hold onto things even when they hurt. They would call our connection strong,and I would believe them. I would belive them when they tell me how strong I was.
When you grew 8 months old. The heart began to beat at a pace which wasn’t the same, it started beating faster. Our connection seem to grow even stronger, I would still come back to you no matter how it would hurt. Again.
When you’re a year old, the heart was in race with itself. It started beating faster and faster, for it was waiting for those endless stairs to end. There was a fight between you and strength, which would continue for days and days with the aim of defeating the other.
You,are three now. Having lost the sight of what the other end looks like, I still yearn to live on the side which hurts but having lost all the strength – I yearn to takeoff just as a plane with a technical issue does.The stairs I’m climbing seems to have no end.
I envy people who stand on a point where they’ve attained contentment, their inner peace – The strength within.
Stories seem to pour harder than the cloudburst outside, we got plenty of time to kill it – But it isn’t dissolving.
Today, as I flip through the pages of an old photo albums they tell me the image I reflect in the mirror is no one but Me.But why do I fail to recognise myself?
A bottle filled up with a message waiting to say it out – Loud enough,
for you to hear.
Until I gather the courage,
I request you to take a little longer to come back,