Maybe in a different world, I'm a tree, Big, Not only physically, I am very important to nature and its inhabitants, I clean the air for those around me.
Maybe in a different world, I am a boy, Wild, Eager, Loves to embrace my ego, Races to see how many girls' days i can brighten up, I'll try my hardest to understand her perspective, She'll be my queen.
Maybe in a different world, I am a diamond, One who can be mistaken for a shiny rock, My value under priced, My potential overlooked.
Maybe in a different world, I am the ocean, With many rivers working together to reach a common goal, To flow in tranquility until they reach me, When they feel like giving up, I look up to the skies and pray, The rain make them full again.
It is hard for me to stay In the same place for long So I look for stories in people. it is easier than trying to find a home in them. you can start with a line, filling every space with more metaphors.
I ended up building These cities made out of words of all the strangers that I can't remember faces and names are easy to forget but stories stay
and I leave a slight melancholy behind. maybe you feel it too on the curls around the pages of your favorite book, you keep coming back to or around the edges of the words; a subtle sadness, even if it's a happy ending. it's the death of a writer who left this world, to build new ones.
but you always stay, in this made up realities to fell something. I hope you know what you're looking for. it is easy to get lost in the smile of a stranger (or a writer who doesn't want to stay)
maybe you feel like you are made out of all these words as if every word, every line, every space every corner and every full stop telling your story, telling every deep dark secrets you always wanted to shout out. as if we've known each other for a lifetime; so you find a home in a world I've built
but don't wait for me
I don't exist in places or in people. I dwell in stories and I die with them.