This World
One more year added.
Before the year ends, I should write something, say something.
Flipping through the words I wrote last year, the year before,
The sky wasn’t light yet,
Holding the heater, soaking in the alluring morning bustle,
Opened the phone’s notepad and wrote a few lines,
Grabbed my luggage and headed out the door.
Handing myself over to the busy rush,
Used to the feeling of being crushed by pressure every day,
