Forlorn Lover III

You left. But you forgot your poetry. What do I do with it? Set it ablaze? But how do you burn something already burning in you?

Today, I wore the last drop of our perfume and the smell of you followed me everywhere. I returned home, sodden in my own tears. Of liberation. Of nostalgia. After today, I won't have to remember you. I will wash clean this dress, rid it of every scent. I will bury deep the empty peach container of our perfume. Then you will be forgotten.

But here I am, again, your poetry in my heart with my soul on fire...

Forlorn Lover II

Love's a state of mind. It is sitting cold beside the one who makes your heart flutter and wishing you can run a stake through him. It is lying in bed with the one who makes you whole and feeling incomplete. It is giving a handshake and not a kiss. It is walking alone. With your companion, far behind.

Forlorn Lover

I see you everywhere. I see your face on all paintings. You are in every song and even birds now tweet your name. Every prose tells our story and I hear your voice in the lines of all poetry.

So I pile these books and reduce them to debris. So now, I dread poetry and my pen flows not, in fear that it may, your name, write. You are the death of my Art.

Yet, you linger.

Tell me, how did you become Air?

#TheForlornLover

love

this is what love is:

house on fire

water quenching it