Maybe everything was distant
A memory
A scrap of paper
A photograph
The future
Was it meant to be?
Perhaps each moment that passed
In the hues of blue
In the tones of sepia
In the depths of thoughts
The odd fear
Of those midnight thoughts
The tear-jerking realizations
The choking epiphanies
Those whispered – What ifs
That never seem to have the right answer
Is it needed?
Was it made to be so?
Did I make it so?
So?
Shrey Anand
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