My best friend who turned into a lover I lost.
You remember? The day you left, you said you were leaving because I am not the same girl you fell in love with. I had so much inside me but the words didn't find a way out of my mouth. They still haven't so here I am writing this letter to you.
I was lost in the I-am-not-going-to-fall-in-love-again world I never intended to came out but there you were standing outside with a smile that pulled me so hard that if I ever fall back again there is no way coming out.
I knew I was in love when seeing your smile took away all my pain. I knew I have fallen for you when I didn't feel the butterflies but a soothing calmness whenever I looked at you.
I don't know how do I stop getting Goosebumps while having a cup of tea at the 'Chai Ki Tapri' near your house because you loved it.
I still remember the days when I used to correct you while you lip synced the one direction lyrics wrong. There's nothing extraordinary I expect, nor I want it to be besides love is everything un-filmy.
I have nothing to complain about except one thing. You know that the only thing I had feared was losing you and you did exactly what I feared the most. And did I tell you that I miss you? Well I do. Alot.
So if you are here reading this and getting ready to fire me with hundreds of questions I want you to know that all my answers are YOU.
The girl you think cheated on you.
Writer:- | Ayushi Diwan |
IG :- ( @diwan_ayushi )
WE GROW ACCUSTOMED TO THE DARK
Befriending the Dark #7 : Poem-share for sinking into the season & Befriending the dark, slowness, silence, & shadows. Emily Dickinson takes us there.
We grow accustomed to the Dark -
When light is put away -
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye
A Moment - We uncertain step
For newness of the night -
Then - fit our Vision to the Dark -
And meet the Road - erect
And so of larger - Darknesses -
Those Evenings of the Brain -
When not a Moon disclose a sign -
Or Star - come out - within
The Bravest - grope a little -
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead -
But as they learn to see
Either the Darkness alters -
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight -
And Life steps almost straight.
His eyes were like wine on a tired evening,
I saw them glisten for the first time.
Pools of hesitation filled them,
As I thought back to the songs he sang to me,
Songs of rebellion, love and empowerment.
To how he traced his fingers up and down my arm,
Turning everything else into a haze.
His lips tasted spice and sweet,
Almost like a mix tape of our bond.
His skin made out gold look dull.
His words were like coffee,
Saccharine bitterness coated with a hot frosting.
I miss him;
The one with bronze hair and unpredictable mind.
Also, the one with venomous eyes.
The one with blue orbs and a gold heart.
I miss them all,
And I remember them like the back of my hand.
But him, he is the one I miss the most,
He stands by me,
My hands getting clammy and cold;
I wait for the words, the words which would shatter it all like it did with the others,
The words, which would come to me like a rainstorm.
They did, they did come back
And here I was, standing there with a frail smile and drinking up the wine from his eyes.
I held onto those memories,
For it to cut my skin up leaving yet another scar,
I swallowed the pain and painted out a picture of his eyes,
Eyes like wine. .
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