Does it help, if I admit that I miss you at molecular level. Or if I say you are snatching away my nights. Does my abnormality resulting from your silence give you relief. Should I mention the constant residual uneasiness you have bequeathed upon me. I don’t find the need to check my cell phone these days. I don’t ponder lately on how I look in front of the mirror. Couldn’t you beguile me a little less? Couldn’t you have loved me a little fainter? Why was the passion required. Were those unrestrained talks really necessary. I am on a thin line between whether I want to recover from you or not. I fear nothing would match up to you and when it does, I would fear forgetting you. Mind isn’t ready to stack you as a thing of the past. You might be indifferent. You might have moved on. You might be yearning. You might have come in terms. You might be struggling too. I have no way to find. For a moment I wish I was little more self obsessed so I could think less of you. Love and the trepidation it brings along!
Then again, I don’t want us to be uncertain. Paddling with insecurities. I will accept our fall. I will embrace your absence in my bones, make it a part of living. Life shouldn’t stop on incomplete stories. We’ll be fine, you and I. Our story, short, romantic, fervent, incomplete, beautiful, sad; but our’s at the end.