The city is not what they claim it to be
People are not what they seem to be.
Sadness doesn’t last forever
And happiness is not a reality
Erasing memories is difficult
More difficult is when people just get up and leave
Life is short, as they all say
So why does each second passing by feels like an open wound
Just waiting to bleed out.
City has people, walking it’s paths
Crosses and intersections
Buildings turned into homes
Life breathed into the concrete jungle
And without them, the city will fall.
Love is not as blissful as the stories claim it to be
It’s sadness and longing mixed into one.
The utter bother of it all, breaks the heart into two.
Just like time, a ticking wound.