Now that you are gone.

I find myself doodling flowers on the tips of dried branches that cut the sky into million pieces,

Trying to be thankful for the forgone memories of your existence,

But then I fall and weep for the loss you from my life more than being grateful for what you gave me.

I feel those sharp tips of branches piercing their needles into my fingers, As I draw the flowers upon them spilling my blood upon the pieces I left unwritten,

And things I left unnoticed.

My mind wants to hold upon you and your memories even when I don’t.

Sometimes I wonder if my mind was

ever me or unforgetten pieces of you.

Even when the daisies you gifted me wilted long back but I find myself longing for their fragrance or maybe their forgotten touch.

So I read. Read all those books which we read together again. And again and again.

Hoping

Maybe I will find you somewhere in between those pages,

In some underlined quote or a highlighted word or maybe in a sentence I left unread because I was bored.

I try and I read.

Sitting on my bed surrounded by all my books

I stare blankly into the vast expanse of starless sky as moonbeam mixed with smog settled upon the city.

I realise that maybe the stars,

I thought were ours never dissolved in the galaxies of my wine glass and kept floating on the top not wanting me to drink it being afraid that I might choke and let them whirl into the confinement of the glass.

And now that you are gone,

Along the lines of the wind,

I realise that I can’t run into you like before as you are far away from the periphery of my vision.

But maybe, my words would still reach you and catch you by your breath

And I hope you realise that at a point on the infinity where the two curves crossed I waited for you.

Maybe a little longer.