"I wanted to talk to you
But I was expecting you would call"
Too many of the promises
I broke with myself
Perhaps more with you
Those days we used to call it ego
Now we call it immaturity
Tomorrow we might call it fate
Truth is we couldn’t get together again
That is very sad
I don’t regret it now
But it’s sad
I don’t console myself
With memories of good times
We had together
I just remember your face
It still makes me angry
So angry that I break something around me
That’s the closest though
I get to my feelings
In these days of eternal numbness
On Sundays and almost every other day
I sit on our green couch
Watching random stuff on television
Which by the way
Has become horrifyingly boring
Had you been here
I am sure the stuff they show now
Would kill you
But I still watch it
Quite late in the night
Because that is the only time
When I still feel your warmth besides me
The blanket still smells of your perfume
Ok! Alright, it doesn’t
I put that on it every other night
It feels nice to smell of you
Than myself
Our last picture
Is the picture on my desktop
I don’t know why I can’t change it
Every time I try
I can’t find anything better
Or meaningful
Pigeons still crap outside the window sill
I clean it every day
I mean once in a week
Almost every Sunday
It looks good
I think they miss you though
They don’t fly away even when I shoo them
They have become as stubborn as you
What was the name of that novel
You read several times?
I can’t find it in the study
I remember it had black cover
Which matched your hairs and eyes
But I can’t remember the title
I miss its character
She resembled you
If not your beauty
At least in your wit and sarcasm
I haven’t written much since
My ideas are frozen
In some other time
Some other book
Some other story
As of now
Let me just sleep around your pillow
Under your blue blanket
And think of you...
