• thewordplayer 6w

    Three eighty-five hundred kilometres
    away weeps the earth
    for its love, the moon.
    And a little more far,
    we drift from each other
    night after night,
    as I pretend like
    nothing is falling apart.

    How easy it is
    to feed myself with all those lies,
    just so that I can
    sleep one more night.
    How tough it is
    to pile my heart up
    with all those remembrances,
    just so that I don't give up on us
    until one more fight.

    It is pitiful, how often
    I lie to myself, just
    because I am too scared
    to move on.
    It is pathetic, how easily
    I betray myself,
    every time I chose not believe
    that the love that once held us
    together, is now gone.

    But hail this world we live in,
    here moving on is
    deemed to be a curse,
    So, may be
    despite all the distance
    that grows every night,
    I will still pretend like
    Me N You are still us.

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    Ps. I wrote it in first person so that it offends no one, but if you are still holding on to what hurts you, then the 'I' in the poem could be you. Moving on from what hurts your heart is absolutely fine, no matter how much you are frowned upon. The one who deserves your love the most is no one else but you.

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