Heart was a book

If my heart was a book,

It warped and stretched,

Like a segment of thread from space- time,

With the ink fading away,

With years passing by,

Leftover is few stains of ink,

And trails of illegible words left behind,

It all represents,

Emotions from happiness to misery,

Life's struggles to meet expectations,

Of the self and others,

Valuable lessons and experiences,

And all that , that couldn't be explained,

It is just that I didn't have a so called diary,

But my heart was the invisible diary.