You aren't the love of my life, but I'd keep us alive forever with these words.

It hits hard when you realise that everything I wrote about, is now just a work of fiction. Someone who isn’t in my life anymore but in my every line since the last 4 years. I still think of you, of the love that you once used to shower me with, of the love that you wrote. I haven’t deleted anything that I wrote about you, nor will I ever will. They will live with me. They will remind me of the love my heart can give. I wanted our love language to be cooking, painting together, writing for each other or anything that could be with you or have you in it, and there was. It was silence. So silent, I couldn’t even hear myself anymore.

You aren't the love of my life but with you I learned how to be a man in love.

-

I spent years wishing for a forever on stars that had already died. My heart still feels a lot of things. Just like how it felt before meeting you. Alone, but happily existing in its own world. I wish I had learnt it better back then. To exist in a love that could stop. To have an attachment that could end. To be in something that seems strong but is actually fragile enough to break apart. My heart could never understand ‘moving on’ and was rather scared because, it had seen you more than me, like a million times maybe.

-

Today, I clicked a lot of selfies. I was smiling. It was like, ‘Felt cute. Won’t delete later’ kind of a mood. I felt peaceful and more calm. Like I could be holding a burning volcano and it would not erupt. Like I could be staring at the storm in the eye and make it drizzle. Looking at the person in the selfie, I felt the same thing. I could hold him and give him a tight hug. I could hold his broken heart and just see him going easy and slow. Everything around him felt wholesome. Storms seemed mild, and his face glowed like a 7 am sunshine.

I realised I could love so much, again.

-

For once, I am going to stop writing about how my heart is feeling without you. The long muse should go on a long break. Like, why should it always be about you? I can’t write words with you in them. What’s with my poetry? Will I succeed? Will I move on? Will I be able to put an end to this never ending misery? — My heart will probably never heal, my words too won’t but it will not crumble. Yet, safe in my archives so I don’t look back again.

Sorry to all of my poems. My heart could never stop me.

-

I wish I had a heart
to spare myself
a heartbreak and
all of my endless doubts
about how to move on.
Unable to accept the broken shards,
I tiptoed slowly hiding all of my remains
that can neither be consumed
nor thrown away, only to hold on
until it wears off everything that
I’ve been screaming of.

It’s my heart beating around the bush.

-

I don’t regret you, but sometimes I wish I could sleep in peace. Because you were the only one my heart fell for, so deep that all I ever did was love with every part of me. Now all of it only see me blank and lost while I am trying to heal them and get back what I lost — myself without you. And that’s the hardest part of losing you.

-

One day I’ll heal better and louder than my broken poems.

-

You were the last thing I saw each day before I close my eyes to sleep. That way my eyes knew whom to dream.

-

Seeing you, I realised art need not be just creative. It could be anything in this world that is as good as you.

-

I want to be a home.
Be a place of comfort and joy.

Both, for you.

-