As I sit on that oakwood bench, and the smell of our favourite spice corn wafts through the air, all the memories
come flooding back.
You would point at the sky and trace the clouds. I would laugh with that unattractive wheezing sound, but you didn't mind. I thought it was perfect. You were a little unobservant, but I didn't mind, because I was a little weird.
We were meant to be. the world could see that, and god knows I never believed in anything stronger than I did In your promises.
I would blush crimson red whenever I found you staring at me, and turned away. I would love all those times when the cold rain would force us close to seek warmth. My heart was so swollen
with love.
Maybe that's why I couldn't see where it started going wrong.
Maybe it was those unrequited calls.
Maybe it was your friends who always interfered, whom I detested.
Maybe that one time you pretended to be busy to avoid me, the start of many such acts.
Maybe it was you. Maybe it was me.
But as I sit on that oakwood bench, watching the old married couple in front of me, your promises resonate in my ears.
Pointing at them you would say,
"We will end up like that."
and sometimes I think to myself, holding on to the last thread, my heart seems to have died when you left me cold.
In those lonely nights, I keep
wishing like a broken record.
Maybe we could have been more?
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