What is that longing called, to find one’s use in scheme of
things?
To be a cause of someone’s laughter and excuse for your existence
What is those bundle of feelings are called
A mix of anger, jealousy, affection and anticipation
Which come and go as you count the seconds during heart’s
deprivation
Those memories which you create of things happened and
imagined
Impervious to circular time
What is that obsession to find meaning in things ?
And believe that what is unsaid may not necessarily be
unknown
Is there a line beyond which our stories merge together?
Or is it just the immortal time making fun of
mortal illusion