It wasn’t easy deciphering her.
She was
Every book she had read.
Every song she had listened to.
Every stranger she had met.
Every landscape she had fallen in love with.
Every wound she couldn’t heal.
Every laughter she skipped her breaths for.
Every tear she couldn’t hide.
Every smile she strived to show.
Every wish she longed to happen.
Every ocean she had once sailed.
Every dream she had waken up from.
Every character she had related to.
Every artist she had understood.
Every painting she had framed.
Every place she had homed.
Every open-road she couldn’t take alone.
She’s not easy to decipher, because she’s a complexity of all the beautiful things that she packed along with her.


About moesolitary

Mixed up between what I want to be and what I think I want to be. For now, I believe I want to be a writer. I belong between words and book. Thoughts linger as poems. I'm a proud Egyptian.

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