I came back from the bridge bathed in tears,
Ugly with the torments over all these years.
Verses fluttered on my lips like a solitary dove,
Only to drown the broken bones into a fresh, dangerous love.
Wallowing in the aura of his wintry gaze,
Never knew what magic put my soul to such a daze.
Does he read me? For I'm afraid,
Of the age old prophecies bards have made.
Crippled in the succour of his treacherous spell,
There, tolls my doomsday bell.
Human beings no matter where they go in the world, will always seek home: in places, in people, in things, and in food. Perhaps because at the end of the day one wants to be vulnerable and yet are loved. We search for a setting where not the flesh, not the bones, but the very soul beneath it is adored and cradled like a newborn, squealing, and needy for love. As long as I lived with my family, I never realized the worth of home, unless one day, I was out in the wide world, alone, apprehensive, and being indoctrinated by societal norms every single day. The only pockets of peace that I was left with was a 'chosen family': a farrago of strangers that I met, and before I could decide to love or hate them, I was entangled with them like wollen strands in the mesh of a new warm cardigan. I have lived with a plethora of strangers, loved them, held them close in my most vulnerable moments, and then cried bitterly when we parted. After a time, both parties agreed on their fate and mo
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