The Times
Yes these days were hard, tough, and stripped from fun. These days they give us unwelcomed memories, and unwanted fights. They forbid us from living, from being, from once and for all becoming family, becoming blood.
Each day we fight, each day we hate one another greater, each day the bond of love once tied among us loosens and fades. Yes I do regret ever being good to you, because what good is done, you disregard, diminish thought for, repel to take in the same actions course.
I have forgiven you perpetually, eternally and tenderly, reminding myself what a better person I would become. But all this forgiveness you throw away in vain. All these memories, you forget, what all made us the same?
And now I sigh, why? Because I pity the days we lived like no other, we laughed like nothing was ever wrong, we consoled and been there for each other, in the times of sadness we did cry, in the times of hard, we held the hands of each, in the times, in many times, we knew these were the years we’d live for, these were times we’d grow old to remember.
But now, and what’s worst than ever; we no longer remember the times, we no longer laugh or smile, we no longer be there for each other, and why ?
Because you were too stubborn to listen to your mistakes, too centered to say the right words, too young and foolish to realize you were wrong, too ruthless to want those memories once more. The good in you; I saw it; it was gone for good. And I still wonder; why?, why have you not said the right words, why have you not listened to me for the answer, why did you not be my sister and why did you not allow me to be yours?
Now the days I spend them alone, bothered, and annoyed. Smothered by the air around me, I wonder what’s left of me to do. What good have I got to offer? More helping hands to be extended to people who would not do the same.
The times, make us stronger, but also consume our internal glee, and replace it with misery and desires.
And what’s worst than ever sister; you complain to our parents, our grandparents, maybe even your friends, saying you hate me from the bottom of your heart, though I did nothing but ask for the right words, saying you do, I say; that’s if you had one in the bottom of all that ****.
Copyright © Louzana Nubani | Year Posted 2012
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