क्यों हर बार अंत में
तुम आपूर्त होते हो,
और मैं अपूर्ण ही

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कुछ तो होता है
जो अपूर्ण भी है
और अटूट भी है

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like self love.
You always doubt it,
but it's always there.
In forms you live.

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staring at the wall
spoonfeeding my demons
procrastinating,
into the unknown
unrealistically.

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I never forget
the ones I need to forget
like I don't remember
the ones I need to remember
people, places, things
hugs, kisses and clinks
and all that it stirred
I don't forget it yet
it's only blurred.
Only blurred.

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the demons I have homed
the boys that I have loved
the rains that I have cried
the scars that I have carried
and to your being,
the one I have burried.

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There's
intricacy
to
intimacy.

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ख़ैरियत मालूम होने लगी है

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सपने खटखटाते है।

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and for fate, we left behind.

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