Every time I write,

The words are pulled back,

They strain to stay on the paper.

It is probably because

With every line, I find myself

Trying to trace back to the time

You lost me.

Today, the words have leapt

To four years back.

The tears would not stop,

And nor would the relentless rains.

I remember as distinctly as ever

The phone call at dawn,

And the sorrow that stayed long after.

There was no electricity that day.

We’re moving forward now,

A year later.

There is a looming tension in the air,

And conversation is laced with anger.

Laughs are now more nervous than genuine.

The phone rings all day,

People come and go-

They aren’t bad,

But for me, they aren’t good either.

The words fast forward

And I can hear the argument,



Over the phone.

Off of it.

I bury my head in a textbook.

Looking back, I remember specific things:

A downcast face,

Unfamiliar tears on a familiar face,

A discovered letter,


And a glass,

Or several.

And yet, I cannot pin it down

To one day, one specific time,

It happened along the way,

With the cracks and the brokenness.

It came with the sad smiles

And pretence.

It came with the questioning of love.

It came with the realisation.

The realisation-

That’s where I lost you.


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