Separation.

Somedays,

my lonely heart

drags me into that old familiar home,

that felt like

my only home,

years and years back.

I feel his scent

right at the doorstep

and refuses to go inside.

But the soft touch of his hands,

welcomes me inside,

just like it did,

years and years back.

The floor, still has

the dried up stain of coffee,

we probably sipped

from the same cup,

lying on the couch,

with some sweet life talks.

The wall, still has

the marks of our old photographs,

we hung with,

so much happiness,

on one lazy Sunday evening.

The bedsheets, still has

the smell of his cologne,

to which I slept every night

in comfort.

The rooms, still echo my laughter,

to one of his

poor old joke.

The mirror, still has

the reflection of me,

blushing in love

when he saw me

in saree for the first time.

But the home,

the home doesn’t hold

the warmth and essence

of our love, we shared

years & years back.

I lost him.

He lost me.

And in the process,

the home lost us

and the memories

of our old love.

Now, I stand there in solitude,

seeking for everything,

I missed in life once.

And the soft touch of his hands 

leads me out,

just like it did,

years and years back.

Without a smile,

without a goodbye,

we turn to each other’s way

reluctant to look back

at the memories,

that gave us so much

to remember in a life time!

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