I d e a

It wasnt you;

but the idea

of you

I was

in l o v e

with,

Immensely,

Deeply,

Foolishly.

Its not your fault,

really.

you must have tried to

live up to that

‘Idea’.

Oh, but one day

That day,

You finally got tired.

You saw her

Ah, and you thought

you could be yourself

with her:

Broken,

Crooked,

Cruel.

Because

She didn’t have

an ‘Idea’

of you,

lingering in her head.

So now,

you could rewrite

the whole book;

a new book.

and you started writing,

day and night

in and out,

with her.

And just like that

you became a

good writer;

you wrote volumes

with changed characters,

and altered plots.

Writers are

infact loyal

to their

lies.