Strings

Fate was a weaverAlso a poetSo she wove stories on the canvas of palms Taking time to create a separate masterpieceOn every handSuturing in every little detail Tying all the corners with neat knotsCreating unique plotsThen one day She got boredDevious as her mind wasShe started playing a little game One where nothing would remain…

To, The book I just finished reading

You can’t fathom how much I miss you already. It seemed like time had halted to a stop as I lingered on your crisp, beige pages trying to read slower, taking in your intoxicating smell, every letter and every word. I have desperately tried to read between your lines and find meaning in every letter…