Like the starsA Poem by NicoleWe are part of the galaxy, only not in the way you think.In the park around my block You could find a man With a young face and a tired look, With bags under both of his eyes, And a body carrying a sense of nothingness, Sitting at 2 o’ clock In the oldest bench you could have found. In rain, in fog, in snow, Staring at the sky with confusion, And making everything people did around him feel like an
intrusion. He didn’t talk, And no one knew who he was. One night I approached him. I sat at his side, And let the silence drown us. The next night I tried to speak, But no words came out of my mouth. The third night I heard his voice for the first time, “We are like stars.” He didn’t look at me. I didn’t understand, And I didn’t question him. The fourth night I spoke. “What do you mean?” He didn’t answer me. But as I left I thought I heard something, A quiet whisper travelling through the breeze of the night, Barely reaching my ears; “We shine as bright as they do.” The fifth night he was looking down at the cracks in the
pavement, When I asked him why, he answered me calmly; “I’m looking for the ones that no longer shine” I joined him afterwards. The sixth night he was looking up again, And in the middle of
the fog inside my mind and the knot in my tongue I managed some words out of me; “You are thinking about death” He didn’t respond to my statement, Neither made a sign that he heard it. The seventh night I found him with his eyes closed, Like he was in the world of light dreams and inexistent
realities, But he wasn’t. “Why are we appreciated after we are dead?” The moon was brighter than usual. “Like the stars?” Too bright, it was obnoxious. “Yes.” The eighth night came and we let the silence drown us. I came up for air. He didn’t. The ninth night he was no longer there. © 2014 NicoleAuthor's Note
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Added on February 26, 2014Last Updated on February 27, 2014 Tags: suicide, death, existensialism, poetry, depression, philosophy AuthorNicoleLima, Lima, PeruAboutNicole. 16. Amateur. English is not my first language. I like to write morbid and tetric stuff. Also fantasy. I do not like 'happy' endings. I love George Orwell. more..Writing
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