I find great comfort in knowing the day gets over sometimes, because for me it just transitions further from one phase into the other. The night gets a little deeper and it gets quieter outside. And the things we missed out on, the plans for the day get crunched towards the end. There is a lot that goes lost as the day translates to the night. My friend from my lab suggested I needed 10 more hours to get all the work done in a day, though he suggested he would get 10 extra hours to sleep in that case. I somehow feel his idea sounded better. For me I know I missed out on writing to you, and most importantly I missed out on reading when necessary. So I decided to write to those missed reads the things we wish we had moments to reread and comprehend.
A Missing Read
We are often about translations to the day, about transitions when at night,
We are our own reasons to start and sometimes give up on fights
We are impatient at times and sometimes we wait till the day ends ,
We follow the rules like we are meant to and then there are some which we bend.
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We hold a missing read too dear, the words I didn't get to comprehend,
The stories that lay bare on the couch, the ones we put on repeat, the ones that never end
We are but short of a few extra hours, to sleep or work our way,
Or to do whatever pleases us at times, and anything to get us through the day
Of short writings I write tonight, a few line short of what you would call true,
Of dreams and pauses and realities , and in my words that I leave for you.
A missed reading comes calling back, it rocks back and forth in the pages to be tamed,
In between the hours that keeps me awake at night, I find a moment which is never the same.
A Missing Read
We are often about translations to the day, about transitions when at night,
We are our own reasons to start and sometimes give up on fights
We are impatient at times and sometimes we wait till the day ends ,
We follow the rules like we are meant to and then there are some which we bend.
We hold a missing read too dear, the words I didn't get to comprehend,
The stories that lay bare on the couch, the ones we put on repeat, the ones that never end
We are but short of a few extra hours, to sleep or work our way,
Or to do whatever pleases us at times, and anything to get us through the day
Of short writings I write tonight, a few line short of what you would call true,
Of dreams and pauses and realities , and in my words that I leave for you.
A missed reading comes calling back, it rocks back and forth in the pages to be tamed,
In between the hours that keeps me awake at night, I find a moment which is never the same.
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