[M I R A G E]

I feel strange.
Like a sunny day picnicking in the park, but you can sense rain coming up

A thunderstorm, loud majestic and roaring, unleashes watery hell upon our blanket
I hate this poem and I hate you.

The person that I was
Am
And will never be
Who even are you to me?

I’m not the same, but never changed
I feel so grown, I’ve lost so much
I wish we had just kept in touch
But no. I’m mature now and moving on.

But how mature can one’s soul be
When I look at the world and want to flee
Into my realm of fantasy
When there’s only one version of me
And that one is the one you see.
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