You’d learn from me – to collect bricks and cement them around your heart. And I fell.

You’d learn from me – to let the mind work out every time a new guy walked in. It would struggle to keep him away from my ladder. And I fell.

You’d learn from me – to be an individual, with no thread left loose to find to tie yourself too. And I fell.

You’d learn from me – to make every thing but human beings a part of my to-do list. And I fell.

You’d learn from me – to view the world with a telescope – searching to reach the stars, far far away from Earth. And oh, I fell.

The cement, it drowned in the ocean that were your tears, which sat at the back of your lids – not knowing their power.

The mind, it lost it’s stamina. It forgot every witty line it could have conjured, every string of words it could have made – because what were alphabets anymore?

And my tongue, it was already tied on to the messed up jumble of threads you were trying to hide in a silly worn out basket.

I didn’t have a to-do list anymore.

And the stars, they had come down here, just for me to see, shining ever so brightly.

They were so far away when I had wished for them.

I just didn’t know that when they’d hold my hand,

It would scald me.