… and as he looked into her eyes, he admitted the truth, a small, kindling flame burning deep within him for her… but as the truth spewed, all he got were blank stares and empty words as she admitted that she didn’t love him.. and never did. All the weeks before, till midnight and later, were all in vain as the letter he wrote meant nothing now. He slowly looked away, placing his week’s worth of work on the edge of the desk. He gathered his belongings, looked for the door as he always did but this time walked out with his heart in his hands. As he exited he felt a sharp pain slither through his chest, as he had grown O’ too well of the feeling. He stopped at the top of the steps, looked at the sky, inhaled as hard as he can and made his way down, through the entrance and along the pavement to the corner. Every word said, a lie and every emotion felt, a myth. All he had for himself was the memory of being with someone but never actually being with anyone. Atleast he was that much clo
Poetry is Emotions Through Words