My chest is heavy,
and my throat tightens,
Breathing ragged,
head light.

I punch you until my knuckles bruise,
I scream until my throat bleeds.

I shout ‘WHY’
as if you owe me an answer.
I beg for a reason behind this hurt.
‘I hate you,’
three powerful words,
but they barely scratch the surface
of what I feel for you.

I look up.
You’re just a person,
like me.
You have scars,
flaws that don’t fade.
Just like me.

Then I catch the softness of your eyes,
vulnerable, full of emotions I don’t understand.
I feel sorry for you,
in some twisted way.

I blink and realize—
I’m in front of a mirror.
Because the only person I can never escape from
is me.

A phone call,
the weight of unspoken words.
Fourteen years gone,
a father's absence echoing
in the lines of her face.

The journey home,
a heart already knowing.
Stoicism, a shield,
not for grief, but for duty.

Her breath, a shallow whisper.
Sleep, a fragile truce.
A hand in hers,
a flicker of recognition,
a smile through the pain.

A kiss, soft as a feather.
Words, simple and true.
"It's okay, Mom."
"Dad's waiting."
"We love you."

Eyes closing,
a release,
a reunion.
Love given,
love returned,
a memory etched in time.

The silver moon seeps
through dark damp leaves
in the warm aromatic drizzle
of a cicada singing mango grove.
Musky night falls in Kerala.