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,
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
It came with the questioning of love.
It came with the realisation.
That’s where I lost you.