Prologue to Untitled

How ever am I supposed to make meaning out of what I write every day, every-time I think of you, or of the one that is hiding behind the shadows of my own making. I wrote the previous poem out of a haze. My mind is still running in that maze. Trying to make sense of why I would even think of burying myself for a person I did not even remember. I wrote those lines tailing on a long forgotten phrase of emotions I had even forgotten existed. I came for another purpose, I was forcefully halted on the precious post, on those first two lines. Something that I kept in my archives for god knows how long. And I couldn’t move on unless I give something to it. Something for those words to feed on. Something for those emotions to put a blanket on. I do not even know what I am protecting. My feelings of last summer or my thoughts of every waking hour. But these lines meant something to me. Even if it was way behind my lifeline, even when I had come a long way from that past-time, I felt something that day and it should be acknowledged. Even if the outcome is faltering.