Just That Kind of a Poem.

It is the kind of moment when I feel the need to write, but I'm not sure what.

Should I muse about the 2 AMs, of loneliness that comes with independence?

Or shall I wonder about those times of grief where you no longer know the reason?

Or shall I refrain from thinking about the doom of inevitable Mondays?

Or shall I gaze about the beauty of Saturday nights and Sunday brunches?

Or probably I'll wonder about that heartbreak of a naive girl which sure would be a cliche,

Or that story about how everything always ends on a happy note,

Or perhaps in my story it doesn't and it's another story of unrequited love where someone dies of an illness,

Or shall I write about that sad story of the sun and moon, or how the stars shine?

Or about endless heart to heart conversations with people you used to call your friends,

Or about people and how their eyes shine when they talk about their passion,

Or about those beautiful poems that touch your heart which I'll will never be able to write,

Or shall I just muse about everything that I possibly can before I run out of everything I possibly can imagine..

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