A Story That Wasn’t Mine.

I finally had some time to get some actual writing done today and I came up with this poem about how we always look for familiarity in places that we don’t belong. We look for someone we connect with- a face that could, in a way or two, mirror our own. But mostly, it is just us trying to find solid ground when we can’t find anything to hold on to.

This is a poem about finding ourselves in the smallest fractions of the world. And sometimes, we do end up writing our own stories in the process.

Happy reading! Xx

Written in these pages,
I read
A story that wasn’t mine,
Lost in a crowd of faces,
I look
For a face I’ll never find,

Drunk on endless hope,
Stumbling in the dark,
Bruised and a little broken
From one too many falls;
I fell headfirst,
Hit the ground so fast,
Fell right into the dirt
Dug from the graves of past—

And I look for my face
In strangers I meet,
I hear whispers
Of all the secrets I keep,
I wonder how much they know
Of the real me;

Perhaps they never will,
And I’ll forever be
A stranger,
One they’ve crossed paths with,

I have no home,
All I am is a memory.

In these very pages,
I could write
A story all mine to tell,
In unknown faces
I’ll find
One I know all too well;

Drunk on endless misery
For stories that remain unknown,
If only I could read
All the stories that are gone,
All but erased from memories
Of those who’d rather forget;
Time is as cruel as can be,
Our todays filled with regrets—

I still look for my face
In stories I read,
Leave a little of me
With the people I meet,
I wonder what they think
Of the real me;

Perhaps it’s too much to ask,
I’ll only ever be
A stranger
With one too many stories,

But none of them mine,
They were never mine to keep.

~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.

Featured Image by Emmanuel Phaeton on Unsplash

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