I narrated a story
With a glass of wine.
Slightly intoxicated, Inebriated,
I sat in the backseat of my car
And in it followed the moon for miles.
Miles at a stretch, in truth.
I created a masterpiece
using just stick figures
I put random colours everywhere.
Everywhere at once, in truth.
I stood on the railing of my balcony
during the first shower and laughed
Laughed like never before, in truth.
I fell ill and got a scolding from mother
so in my room
I played dress up with my dolls
My dolls, like myself,
looked worn out in truth.
I wore a raincoat the next day,
and fussed about wanting an umbrella instead
A fuss for mere fun, in truth.
I took the bus to my school later
And dropped a few crumbs
on the last bench in class
A class that smelt like happiness, in truth.
I looked at the tube light
through my plastic ruler
and marvelled at the rainbow formed.
The rainbow was distorted, in truth.
I snuggled with all my soft toys at night
so that no one felt ignored.
Ignorance hurts, I of all knew it; in truth.
I loved myself,
and not just for the sake of poetry
I felt happier than ever
I had forgotten what it felt like, in truth
And then the claps echoed round the room
I wished they'd stop, in truth
I loathed the truth.
That this was but a mere tale and fable.
A mere story, written by nostalgia.
A mere story, the bestseller of my existence.
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