Burnt

I would love to call you my beloved,
Looking into those eyes, I would love to get married,
Holding your arms, I would love to meet the world,
Carefree, yet head over shoulders.
But alas, those eyes don’t look into me,
The world greets me and tells me,
You are just another part of “the world.”
Or are you?
I say, you are also a part of my memory.
You are also a part of my conscience,
You are also a part of my well-being.
May I be a part of yours?

Love came, love went, but did love die?
Love did not — do you know why?
Because love is reborn from the ashes of the memories that you have left behind.
Your smell still encapsulates me in my sleep;
I keep the light on, sometimes,
But always, I sleep in the dark.
Because darkness is all that is left.
Except those memories.
I don’t go to those places I had taken you —
But what do I do with the wrapper of that first gift?
I hold it close to my numbing sorrow, and remember you.
Because the numbing sorrow and the silent tears —
are the only proof I have left that I loved you.
They are the only proof that I held you close some night,
and we slept as if “the world” doesn’t matter.
Today, you are just another part of the world.
But forever, you will be a part of my memories,
And this numbing sorrow.
Someone forgot to wake me up before September ended,
And our love got burnt.

3 thoughts on “Burnt

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