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@AnonymouslyHal
Author: Ash Ochoa Poetry
You'll figure it out.
”New”
In this day and age everything that seems ''new'' in my mind has probably already existed.
So if everything I think has already been thought and every word I write has already been written then what's really left to say?
Is the concept of being unique or original even a possibility anymore?
This Time
Maybe I tried
to recreate those memories.
Maybe I did saunter down
the same street to the same building
with the same crude, concrete ceilings hovering above my head.
Maybe my food was the same,
maybe I held the same drink,
and just maybe I saw many of the same
people that we had before.
Maybe I did try to relive
romanticized moments without you
within the same places that we once shared.
But maybe this time
the feeling just wasn't the same.
Maybe this time simply meant more.
Free
Within those moments
my entire reality became suspended.
It felt like the idea of time
no longer concerned me
and that I had finally found
my long-sought peace.
Gone were the worries
and intrusive thoughts
hindering my existence.
The world around me
had simply faded away...
and all I felt was free.
Creek
Little Pink Roses
Time
I hate time. I wish it would stop.
I wish time would pause, take a break, and forget to restart.
I wish that the hands on the clock would inexplicably stop ticking their way through moments that will never come back and that the squares on every calendar were occupied with events that would never occur.
I wish that the future didn't exist so that my days with you were countless.
I wish that time would simply stop so that my life with you was endless.
Her 6
Maybe
Yes, maybe now it doesn't feel the same.
Maybe now everything has changed and shifted to the places once unknown to us.
Places so distant that now we feel closer as strangers than we ever felt as we did together. Maybe each day my feelings have evolved into emotions that I never thought my brain could possibly possess.
But maybe now it somehow all feels better.
Maybe now everything is how it always should have been.
Tightrope
How didn't I know it was coming to an end?
It was inevitable, unsustainable, completely unrealistic.
Each day the tightrope I was walking had become less taunt, every step just a bit more precarious than the last.
It was bound to break at some point
and I knew that.
I guess I just wasn't expecting
that abrupt of a snap.
AO Poetry 
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