When the night is cold

And there’s no one to hold,

Our story is never too old

To be retold in a chest of gold.

Written in August 21, 2013. Originally posted in Twitter. I loved writing random poems before. Whether it be on my way to school or home, long rides keep my head filled with words and rhymes. This piece maybe empty for some, but it means so much to a person who yearns for someone to listen to his/her stories. Good or bad. Stories are meant to be told to form deeper understanding; to learn from; to inspire. What if there’s no one? Reminiscing is retelling but instead of having somebody on the receiving end, you have yourself to review the moments that makes you happy. Magically, thoughts of those are enough to plaster that stupid smile which is enough to get by the loneliness.