It scares me

when I realize that our values have started to differ,

and how malleable our habits actually are.

It turns out they change,

faster than how a chameleon changes its colours.

And that scares me,

because when I thought you were the epitome to what they called realism,

I was wrong.

No matter how flexible we tried to accommodate and compromise,

the rope holding us together is thinning

and we are both running out of breath

to catch up on each other’s life,

when our footsteps used to be in sync.


Like an anchor,

you once put my insecurities to rest.

And I try to do the same.

I grappled with ropes,

only to find my hands tangled in them.

Red, bloody scars,

stung like skin marked with paper cuts

following with every drop of tear,

while you sailed further away from me.


We function like a one-way mirror now.

Reflections where we see each other in ourselves

are dissolved in our sea of memories.

You stared at your own reflection,

smiling in ignorance

while my eyes meet yours

trusting –

that in the remaining telepathy we have,

you will sense my urgency

in alerting you of the high seas.

(Note: this actually wasn’t meant to be a poem but I ended up writing one (maybe?))


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