Cleaning my dust amassed shelf,
I found my threadbare journal.
The dried brown petals
Of the roses you gifted,
Lies still,neatly pressed
Between the yellowing pages.
The scribbled letters have their ink fading away.
Why doesn't love fade too ?
Why do the wounds seem fresh still?
Has the chariot of time
Pulled it's reins faster than I could decipher?
You are still a memory.
Beautiful yet painful.
Unfortunate yet unforgettable.
My nectar yet my poison.
I have so tried to push away
Your thoughts-that swirl around my head
From dawn to dusk,
Yet a part of me wants you to stay-
In memories within me.
Ah! Memories!
Your only traces left in my life.
Do you think about me too?
Sometimes,at late night-sitting on your usual swing by the balcony?
You must have forgotten
Even the sound of my voice.
And yet you remain embedded within me,
My feelings for you still intact..
Why is love so complicated I ask into the thin air,
Will I ever find its answer.?
P