My dear twenty-seven
Did you treat me well?
For you made me confess to my fear,
Convey to my emotions,
Rethought my thoughts,
Connect the dots of every happening.
We bid adieu to the wisdom behind the lips,
We witnessed the death of the world;
We faced the greatest pain of life
Buried under the skin,
We experienced the terrible stories
Coated by sugar.
The truth is unveiled and the tides went out:
An acceptance of passed time and made choices,
Too late to be undone,
Too soon to be given up.
Hypocrites on earth
Disguised as loving folks;
Moments of miracles
And fragments of hope,
Mirroring the emerging love.
Too old to restart,
Too young to end —
This is the point of no return.
Note:
Written on the last night of being twenty-seven, “a viable diable age”.
Twenty-seven has not been a lovely year, but I was lucky enough to live it through. Perhaps there is too much to be experienced, and too much pain to be taken.
The first time losing a job, the first farewell to wisdom, the first time to convey the darkest spot in the heart, the first time to share. Did you treat me well? I do not know. But it is time to rethink everything and start a new start.
Portrait of Em. 