Back in the old city
Down the memory lanes
Treading the frozen times of yesterday
Remembering our dances in rain
I can almost feel the touch of your hands.
And smell the lost scents of your laughs.
What dissolved those moments of love?
When did one shadow abandon the other?
Why did the sands have a single set of footprints?
No vows of staying close.
No conditions to walk together.
No binds to name the relationship.
Yet cold winters later
These glorious summer storms,
Find your name as a sigh on my lips.
Memories are funny, indeed.
I sat by the window
To write you a letter.
Of our lost time together.
Perhaps for eternity.
Blurry eyes spill a drop on the parchment
But the words from the ink flow incessantly.
Of a future departed.
Time turns back to the night
When you left without looking back.
This letter will be yet another draft.
Not burned to ashes, my fickle heart.
But you will still know, won’t you?
And just leave me with a parched rose
With the last fumes of our time?
There is a kind of love where you burst fireworks and sing to your heart’s content.
There is a kind of love where you hold hands and slow dance on a deserted road.
There is a kind of love where you tuck into a quiet alcove with whispered dreams.
There is also a kind of love…
A kind that is surreal
Connected through the slightest flicker of the eyes
In the most fleeting touches
Tied by a wisp of gossamer thread
Where there is a familiar understanding even after years of separation.
A kind that is invisible but in the slightest curve of the lips.
The one you carefully lock in a dark corner of your soul,
Only to bring out as a guiding star in the pitch dark.
Your ray of sunshine on a rainy day.
It is the love that never was.
It is the love that never could be.
Yet, it is the love that got lost.
“There are all kinds of love in this world but never the same love twice.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald