• ridhimabahl 10w

    Like a Polaroid, moments are often stuck in an infetismally small trace of time...
    Frozen solid, Aged with pain, laughter, and labeled with beautiful captions
    Weaved by delicate threads
    I look back to discover, how your enchanting words became my salvation
    And your lies danced to become my poetry
    You stole me into an abyss,
    Where my moments stopped
    And their melody died,
    Withered from within