I come and I go

I hate the way I live.
The bubble. Pricked by my ever fastidious whims.
Pop.

In that distant world I call home

That queasy feeling.
Is it the meeting of a nemesis?
Or knowing that someone else is living my dream?

That vast silence that deafens me

Have you forgotten about me?
Quietly in these silent days?

Have you look up to the sky and wonder that I am looking up at it too?
And thinking about you.

Me - The forgotten one

Am I greedy because I love?
Feeding on the impossible.
Pining for what he had forgotten and laid to rest.

By Emily Dickinson

Heart! We will forget him!
You and I—tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave—
I will forget the light!

When you have done, pray tell me
That I may straight begin!
Haste! lest while you're lagging
I remember him!

She cuts a lonely figure

Leave me alone.
I want to sit quietly by myself.
Just by myself.

The sun shines, on my flaws and all

When bad things or misfortune befall other people, what do you do?
Gloat over their bad luck? Relief? That it did not happen to you? Or genuinely sympathise?

I wish I can summon all my honesty and say I belong to the latter. But I can only heave a huge sign of relief.
That it was not me.