5th April, 1989
I'm in the theatre with him, watching him watch the movie. He is so beautiful that I could plant flowers on his finger tips and kiss him to give him strength. He would occasionally look at me and my butterflies would stop mid air, anticipating something I was afraid of.
30th April, 1989
We have made so many promises, and sang so many of my poems. He has painted so much for me, golden artifacts of me hanging in his closets. I miss him every morning when my mother gets me breakfast. I miss how his moist lips would caress my neck and how his sweet voice would love me to death.
27th March, 1999
We tripped on love, a dying promise. It was painful at first. We fought but I still held on to his petals. Giving up was not supposed to be an option but my father said to move on. I cried. I knew he would come back. If broken, I would stitch him.
2nd April, 1999
I miss him.
5th April, 1999
He is not here in the theatre.
I looked for him -
in every man over here who has a smile like his but they weren't worth of flowers.
30th April, 1999
My needles are rusted.
I'm sorry.
I cannot stitch him.
~Sampurna
YOU ARE READING
Ink And Echoes
Poetry♚ ❛ Juliet, Tell me what is it like to vanquish - When you tossed the coin, And stepped on the battleground, With the accent of swords. Still you stand, Hands dripping of sin. In search of Romeo, You killed, And killed, And died. ❜ { Highest rank in...
