Dearest one, I could ask you to stay, But there’s really nothing left to say. I’m a wreckage now, my October fall. From the moment my eyes saw you, I looked at you with a mouthful of eternities, I knew you were a beautiful, beautiful destruction waiting to happen. You were blooming words and daises and I was picking up them after you. I wrote yourself deeper into my bloodstream, and I loved you quietly, hungrily. My wonder, you were the prayer and the redemption, the temptation and the sin. Sinned with me, sinned for me. You were my favorite canvas and when you let me go, I felt so pained. I earned so badly for you, my heart exploded so badly in my chest that I wanted to burn the canvas in fire. May be, the embers and ash would fall on the white glossy marble and I would gather them in my hands and make a beautiful thing out of it. New Year’s you left me, the next day I don’t know how many pieces I woke up in but they were all thinking about you. The pieces were razor sharp and they cut me, I bled. But I remained still as I let you take me places. I’ll let you go, warm, beautiful, destructive soul, I’ll let you go. Our paths might cross again someday, and I’d smile. Like I smile at a thought, like I smile at scribbled poetry. I’ll let you go, but my heart won’t. It won’t because you will become a fossil entombed in the hard granit of my heart. Some things end, some things don’t. You know, love, we met for a reason; it’s the way things were meant to be tangled, like my fingers and your hair and your heartstrings and mine. You left me for a reason; I’ll spend the rest of days finding the reason why. I want you to slip my heart when you flip through the pages. I want to be the damp circle of the mark left by the first cup of tea you take. I want to be the love you make to somebody else. Am already the mess you leave behind, the devastation you created while you tucked away secrets behind your ear. Am the aftermath to your storm. Do not ask me today what you mean to me. You are a poem, my poem, burning on fire at the center of my heart. Do not ask me tomorrow what you meant to me. I searched for sunsets in your pockets and song lyrics under your tongue. Do not ask me ever again what you meant to me. Because you, my darling, are the frenetic melody, the last moment of darkness before the sun steals the night away. My bookstore girl, you never knew you were a savage, yet, graceful thing because you left me feeling fragile. You never knew you are made from the bloom of wildflowers, the wonder of red sunsets and a longing that spans lifetimes. Why did you leave me? I’ll search for the answer when I’ll wake up at 4 am and cry and think if we both cry for the same things. If we ever meet, I hope it is in a forest. Sit with me somewhere in a forest floor where the light spreads out like a picnic blanket and the wind is all we need. You said you had stopped falling in love. Allow me to whisper softly in this silence “I love you”, like a silent prayer. I’ll say softly enough to make the surface tension of the sound barrier beautifully apparent. You are Rome burning. You are Paris at night. You are London falling gracefully, and I, my love, will keep falling in love with you. Yours, till all the forevers collide into an eternity, the one you called your Home.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton