Untitled #5 

i’m not so fond of love poems anymore, so i begin this poem as an attempt to unlove you. to brush the dust off my piano, that has spent way too many years at the back of my garage, along with pieces of your memories. you see, the concept of love, to me, has always collided with music somehow. as if the notes i play on my piano could make you fall lesser, or me deeper in love. remember the time i hit the wrong key, lost my head and asked you to step away while you said: “i have a bullet-proof vest on, shoot”. what you missed was the euphonies of emotions and dreams and love, that settled on my lips, waiting to be hummed, waiting to be heard by ears that’ve become too comfortable in dissonance. and instead, i asked you to step away. because i’ve always been too afraid. too afraid to tell you that the times, we collected happiness in jars and hid under the bed for, never came. so if you ever hear me reciting this poem, i want you to sneak those jars inside your t-shirt, run to the garden and lift the lid, watch our laughters and giggles dance with the butterflies, reach somewhere near to immortality. some things just don’t demand to be saved, darling, some fragments of your existence you’ve got to set free. the coming winter, when the snow sticks to the ground, i’ll burn those unaddressed letters, the postman returned every Sunday because your goodbye note said “where the calm and the chaos meet, disasters follow” and so i decided to spare you the trouble and keep the storm away from your peaceful equilibrium. now you tell me, love, how long can someone breathe the same scent of dead love and shredded forevers. how long before it starts to choke you on the ashes of your own memories. memories of 365 roses for everyday of the year, of broken guitar strings with negligible hindrance in unapologetically loud voices singing love songs from the 90’s, of burnt fingers and cool kisses, of evening walks and white gajras that found their way to my messy buns, of wishes and dreams of the tomorrow that was meant to come, or so we thought. the reminiscence of the days i was sure i loved you. I used to think Fall was a symbol of departure, grief, longing, pain. the people who know me, know how deeply i hated Fall and the idea of ‘leaving’. but when you left me, somewhere in the middle of Autumn, i realised that the shedding of leaves was symbolic to freedom and that Autumn actually signified the beginning, not the end. and it’s surprising, really, how your absence taught me more about myself than your presence ever could. i don’t really know where i’m headed with this poem, or where i want to reach, what i know is that we were never in love. but it was all written you see, written way back in destiny that hearts are meant to be broken, but you have the privilege to choose the person who breaks it. so when you come and visit me this Spring, i won’t pluck flowers for you nor would i weave it into a garland, no, i would ask you to trace your footsteps back to where they came from. because honey i won’t ever have enough love for you, and you won’t ever have enough courage to leave.

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