Many times, I promised myself
I will not see you.
I will not remember you. suppressing my feelings, Imprisoning my emotions.
Though, quite  Hurt I am,
Yet  I don’t let it show.
I practiced the art of appearing untouched,unbroken,undeceived.

But in my own room,
Looking,  into a full-size mirror,
I know it’s my being only, who knows the reality….
That I am hurt, I am deceived.
And still….
I long to see you.
I long to touch you.

In the dead silence of my room,
Dead are my belongings, inside me too

Dead is something , and that is—emotions,hopes,thoughts,
temptations, and expectations.

Yet sometimes,
a memory returns quietly…
like a whisper, I cannot silence.
Your presence lingers, in places

I no longer visit,

In those moments, I try to forget.and gather myself again,
And in that deep silence,
something still stirs, feels restless,unsetled,
aching to break free…
It crawls through the stillness, shattering the quietness of me
and my room.
I turn around to see –Is there anyone who hears me…Sigh.

On that dusky road,
I am always there…
collecting the scattered pieces
of my broken affair.

If this piece touched something within you, share it with someone who might feel the same.”