A fleeting second on someone's news feed,No dearth of meanings for those who read,Not my stories but 'tis what I think,I say I don't write poems, I just write dreams.

I had seen the world as either white or black.It is only when I read the pages of her diary that I understood why the sky looked so grey.

I wish not to tell you how I feelI choose silence so that you leaveKiss me goodbye and set me free

That was the thing about her. When you told her about an incident where you so badly screwed up, half expecting her to laugh at you in amusement, half anticipating a smirk of disgust, she would hardly express her pity or maybe she did express what she felt, for she would just nod her head, gesturing you to go on... As if it's normal... As if you're normal.

Maybe that's what writers do-Maybe they exaggerate pain just so that you feel okay about what you're feeling.

I wish not to tell you how I feel,I choose silence so that you leave,Kiss me goodbye and set me free...