To be, or not to be.
Not to be, so to be.
That presence that you made, unmade you.
The walk you walked, walked you out.
The wait you kept was a waste.
The words you bled were on a paper already worthless.
But then, we learn and unlearn through mistakes,
Through trash, dust, noise and sighs.
Some tears.
Some bliss.
So all the walks, the talks, the waits, the words,
Wasted and unrecyclable. But decomposed. Decayed naturally.
Hence, here you are. Another you, a little new.
And you passed,
Some days, some years of this long survival,
To nothingness.
