Total darkness is about to overthrow dusk but you haven't turned up, oh my darling The shadows of melancholy have deepened Yet I stand here, with my heart still hopeful of uniting with you, and my eyes desperate to behold you.
How do I produce new stories everytime I wish to go out to have a clandestine meeting with you? I am literally running out of pretexts, Oh sweetheart How long will I manage to save myself from the vigilant eyes of the world (and) Where do I hide the stream of my tears?
My dear, we haven't met in ages The flowers in the garden of my heart have ceased to bloom What if this beautiful phase of spring passes? What if it's too late and autumn, the season of decay takes over?
Don't play such cruel games with me; don't harass me Don't let me burn in the furnace of separation Realize my grief; understand my pain Where have you concealed yourself? Please come out of hiding and come to me
The pieces of my broken heart refuse to come together For they believe they'll create a horrendous mosaic No amount of metaphors can help me bring them closer So forgive me if my verses sound almost entirely prosaic
(Right now mending my broken heart is gonna be my priority.
I think "looking for a muse" should be my first step towards treating it.)
It ended randomly, when I woke up after a long sleep. I had no idea what's going on. I have got nothing to worry for it, nothing to think about that. Because everything about it was betrayal and disappointment.
Maybe its that I had no friends, close ones gone for something that's really worse. Got some classmates, who could help in times. But I don't miss any of them. Means, I don't miss people. I miss the days;
Fun I had in lunch seems no more, Praises I had for portraits seem gone, Teachers seem like old friends, School bus changed to something I couldn't use anymore.
But I don't worry about these, I don't know why. There were somedays when I cried for friends, worried for farewells. But this..
The day you left, I puked few poems and tucked your love letters with white lilies inside my September journal. ~ I discarded the possibility of you and me devouring leftover songs and lavenders under a moonlit sky. ~ The day you left, I killed you a little and died a lot.