Cherry Wine.

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The way I discovered it; How some people can be a threat; like poison.
Making you slip under their spell, little by little, drop by drop, like venom.
leaving you, dying ; was the time when I met Her.

who knew? Cherry Wine could be Poison too.

- At first, you might enjoy their company. Their presence is just like drugs.

you want more and more and want it to keep going on and on.
Their warmth; Gives you all the comfort just like a fire in a cold night. It's not your fault, even a Cruel Witch seems to be a Fairy.

Your mind might divert by their absolute beauty;

Her eyes were green ; they could make grass appear grey. You can almost get lost in them. Almost.

She was pale; her skin was as delicate as paper ; like a swan.
Her hair; Jet black. as black as crow's.

Her killing smile, absolutely lissom.

It's not your fault ; You can't help it!
Even a Crow appears to be a Nightingale at first sight.

But then, you come to know that it's all gone.
just gone.
They leave you.

'' if you love me, let me go..''

she said in a quiet, low tone.

these words got carved onto my heart.

I never wanted to.
I never did let her go.
She did it; she left me.
she left me.

I was all alone. From the very moment she left.

It felt like fire.

as if someone was churning Toxic in bottom of my stomach.
it burnt like lava; It hurt so much.

the pain was irresistible.

then from the moment afterwards, you get to know that:
The Fairy turned into a Cruel Witch;

The Nightingale, was no longer a beautiful bird, but a Crow.

The magic was just a spell.

Sometimes, I ponder, How some people are so cunning.

Cunning enough to find the door that leads them to the most precious throne; The Throne of Love; sit there for a while and then just leave?!

But then I came to know...

She wanted to.

She wanted to stand up and leave from the very first moment we met.

Even though it took me long,

I let go.

I let go off her this time

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The way I realized it; how some people can be as delicious as Cherry Wine,

but in the very end, they are nothing but just a spoonful of acrid cough syrup,

which you need to swallow
swallow all the memories.
good or bad,

all of them.

; was when I let go off her.

Maybe, Someone shot my little Nightingale down.

Or maybe she did it herself...?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*