In your twenties, There will be a guy, Who'll text you one night, Saying how a certain song reminds him of you. A song that was always your favourite to begin with. It's important for you, To not take it personally. Because, that moment onwards, Whenever you'll listen to that song, It'll remind you of him, And when he leaves, Which he will, You'll not be able to listen to your favourite song, For 20+ months. Maybe he'll forget about all the sweet words he said, But, your hear

I see you first, After days that turned into months, Did you long for me too? You turn slow, To look at me a little more, Did I want to look at you too? Yes, I did, But, no, I didn't, Why do I avoid your eyes, Why don't I smile? Why am I such a mess? Why do you find me all the time?

It's 10:56 PM, I don't have a thought to stretch out into a poem, To add laces to a boring day dream, Make it pretty and poised, I think the words have already left the chat, I think these leftovers, Are not worth anything.

Maybe I'll find you, As randomly as I found, The crescent moon, In the twilight sky this evening. Maybe I'll have, An epic story to share with everyone.

I find poems written by other poets, Sounding like the ones, I used to write once, And now I wonder, If that poet even exists, Because she would never write something like this, She would encrypt her feelings, In verses, She would send them to her muses, She would share it with the world, And this one, here, Has nothing to do with her, Or her muses. Her muses left, And then her words too. Apt last words for my book or this blog, haha.

I feel like the last tulip blooming while the whole field is harvested to be put in bouquets for their loved ones. I feel like the last balloon at the balloon seller, the one never got picked. The one about to deflate. I feel like the last piece of bread, untouched, unwanted, ignored.

Only the revival of my inner lover girl, Will stop the demise of this blog, Because I see the laboured breath, Of my imagination, Trying to thrust life into this dead space, And I don't think it wants to survive, A life that's so null and void of any love.

Sometimes, Despite showing up, Again and again, Isn't enough, But that doesn't mean, You're not trying, It only means, You've to let it happen, At its own pace, And you, Meanwhile, Can just show up, To welcome it, Whenever it arrives.

I want to be a soft, lover girl, But I'm forced to be an independent girl, So I curl my fingers in a punch, And stop myself from hitting people, To get the work done, Clenching and unclenching the hands, Until the anger seeps out, Who the hell thought it was okay, To make a pretty girl hangry?

When a spark meets fire, The fire grows, And when the fire meets a catalyst, It roars.

Once again, Life feels like a big, Work in Progress all over again, And I don't know, Where this will take me, Or how much it'll destroy me, All I know is, I cannot run away from it, Even though I want to.

I have been feeling like the side character lately, That character whose story is left incomplete, The one whose character doesn't build up only, The character that only stays in the background of others people's big scenes and plot twists, The character that fades out eventually, The character no one remembers after a while, The character who wasn't probably required in the first place. Useless, story less, plotless.