Thoughts like these is not how it should’ve been. Things have turned out so differently....
INTROSPECTION
Does love drown? Does it die its own death? Does it tie a noose around its neck and let the strings of expectations breathe their last? Does it fall from someone’s tender eyes and turn rigid? Does it lose its light? Does it welcome darkness with open arms and closes doors to comfort? Does it let go off the past and rip out the pages that could be a possible future. Does it wholeheartedly resist change? Does it lose its memory? Can it be framed? Or is all discomfort unaccounted for? Does the world witness drowning passion and call it sunset? Do the hues hide bruises? Does the night not speak of secrets? Thoughts like these is not how it should’ve been. Things have turned out so differently.
You’ve changed.
Your smile has straightened. Your confidence has curved. Your conversations are shorter. And your mind is clouded. Your feelings are borrowed. Split. Shared. Divided. Broken into so many tiny pieces there’s no ‘whole picture’. Only missing pieces of a puzzle that just isn’t put together anymore. Without purpose. Does love lose its purpose? Does it thrive on vanity or does it look for hidden meaning? In carcasses of old buildings and frames of vintage pictures. In wilted petals and lost letters. Does it stop having conversations? Does it starve itself or feast on abandoned thoughts? Is it all wrapped in immaculate poetry or ornate houses? Neither a home to a single soul. Only a surrogate to keep the heart beating. Does love still want to live? Once there’s no one to keep it? No one to nurture it in their arms. Wander with it in lost lands of naivety and find comfort in the known and familiar. Does time still test love or does love hold time by the collar. Strangle it gently. And wait for the last breath to spill over. Till it forms an ocean of regrets, only to wash over loneliness. Does love shadow sadness? Does it follow it like a curse? Or does it redeem it in its purity? Has love learnt new ways? Ways to let a piece of your heart down in the grave? Watch it turn to dust. And ink the memory of loss with the repeating recollection of the evening when it all ended. When the sun brimmed over the horizon and rays parted in between trees. When truth was naked and lies cloaked in delicate silks. When new beginning was ushered to the December winds. And an old chapter ended. One that had 28 verses. A poem that no longer rhymed, wilted. And the ashes flew away in small whispers.
Does love at all, last?
