A starting line had always been the hardest one for him
Spellbound by the need to communicate and finding the right words
The first time he tried talking to a girl he was attracted to,
With his mind perfectly aware of the words he needed to say,
His voicebox, like a corked juice, refused to spill
His breathing got laboured as he literally choked on his words
He was never an orator. But we wasn’t a stutterer either
So he too was stunned at how easy it was for him to strike a conversation
As though she had perfectly understood his loss for words and made them up with hers
Where his voice faded and was lost like a washed off paint,
She dropped the silence like a suitcase filled with unwanted characters nobody deserves
So why didn’t it turn out as great as it started?
He was hurt the day he saw the girl he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with, with someone else
He, like a patient with peptic ulcer, couldn’t understand the fire he was feeling inside
He wished her death. But he loved her still
Striding through the dark like it was his birthplace
He never forgot, that life was never fair

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