The bestfriend’s role

Strange. Really strange.

Losing balance and losing faith.

Been a month of a perplexed state.

Struggling to solve a vexed mystery.

Missing pieces, broken wings.

Imprisoned by my own sins.

Trying to prove nothing.

Questioning just about everything.

She told me I should stop.

The analysis paralysis.

And the way I position the lens.

Each time it focuses on me, it’s all blurry.

If not blurry, it’s small.

I feel small.

But my bestfriend thinks otherwise.

Said I should believe in myself more.

No one delivers it any better.

She’s genuine. She’s pure.

I trust her.

And it’s good.

To find someone you can share whatever.

So I told her I couldn’t write no more.

Stained drafts and damaged thoughts.

Numb heart and restless soul.

Ruined by the mundane chores.

Distracted by deadlines.

Saddened by unmet goals.

Running towards nearly closing doors.

She leaned closer.

And listened to my endless confusion.

She knew me pretty well.

She heard this.

A thousand times before.

Never did she judge at all.

She knows when to play the role.

Of a bestfriend.

A sister.

Not by blood but by choice.

She then told me things.

All of them weigh more than a ton.

Full of substance and a strong core.

Words that has enlightened me.

Granted me power to remember my gift.

So I put justice to it.

Albeit rather short and quick.

Breaking rules of grammar and wit.

I don’t care.

I know this will be the beginning of it.

Of more assembled ideas.

To form more organized creations.

A reborn artist.

A writer rising from the dead.

Inspired by the bestfriend.

The end.

*********

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