The One After The Guardhouse

Once, I read a poetry of you
Though my hands wrote the words
But I had never felt like I owned them
I could tell that I have failed by the look of strangers' faces across the stage
Maybe I have lost in between the translation of you and trust

I began to question when you whispered close to my eardrums, 
"I miss you" 
and hugged my waist with your strong arm

I was lying if I did not miss how our fingers link like unbroken chains

But then I arrived back to my doubt when you asked when would I leave the town then begged me to stay
When at the end, you disappeared the next day anyway


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