To put out feelings;
or, how difficult is it?
I often wonder.
“Don’t overthink”, you often say
and never get back to talking any further.
My expectations of you
pouring sentiments in conversations
rather than swaggering me around in couture at your charity balls
pining for all things tangible
in a long- distance relationship;
It’s like sauntering
in the inky and misty moonless night,
stalked by shadows.
So, I decide
it’s about time
I twisted the story a bit,
and color it in happy metaphors
like ochres and pastels,
chocolate dipped strawberries,
A perfect reverse entropy of clandestine romance.
I sometimes wonder,
how could he be so intensely tamed by emotions
when Dante penned The Divine Comedy,
Beatrice never loved him back.
is perhaps the greatest form of love
free of all vices;
How do I know so much about unrequited love?
I am a master at stabbing love with
and cogent distances.
For, I tend to drift away from shallowness of the shore
kind of love
the moment someone utters “I love you”
soonafter kissing me on the mouth
at the end of that first date.
Love only grows stronger;
at cul de sacs,
in all- night conversations,
and in doing all things mundane.
The lover in me would only settle for them
to be honest,
Syrupy promises and talks of forevers make me sick
I am a flight risk.
And you wouldn’t have an iota of idea until I am gone.
I will make you my muse tonight,
and paint you with impulsive paradoxes of
of deep and passionate love
resonating with the sounds of colors.
And by colors I mean the rare ones;
ochres and pastels of monsoon,
violets of autumns,
crimsons of twilights,
golds of sunrise.
And if you are the one smitten by little things
Jane picking Gardenia over Orchid
Or, Darcy’s silent love for Elizabeth,
I deserve to stay.
I will have to stab love
by the cul de sac.
Image Courtesy – Annie Spratt