To: …..
From: the end of time;
a letter for [redacted],
i would have never forgiven myself,
but you did,
i am afraid of the crowd around us,
i’m cold.
i’ afraid of the possibility,
afraid of not coming home.
i see myself as scribbles,
hanging on a rope.
love is a journey,
of ever changing scenery,
there is fear that i have never seen,
but here i am anyway.
i fear my own voice,
i’m afraid that there will be no end,
i am confused,
so i write.
my mind pondering for something,
one more bottle should do the trick,
anxiousness aching in my chest,
my soul longs for peace.
all i want is to run,
run to the deepest darkest forest,
sitting under the old grove tree,
endlessly listening to nature.
i see birds and bees,
i see tall trees that i long to climb,
i see the morning fog covers me,
i hope that there will be clearance, time.
i’ve thought about this moment,
replayed it over and over again,
seeking every possible ending,
and i was still wrong.
i heard the holy ghost whispering,
don’t fear,
for the time,
is yet to come.
i feel abandoned,
in a forest,
no direction of where to go,
so i closed my eyes.
for once i don’t have to try,
at-last i’m happy,
i’m sorry for crying,
i just want you happy—
i’ll wait for you, as long as you need me to
- Darren