It was an idle evening
And I was sitting in the lap of Past
Resting my head on her chest
As she slightly moved her hands through my hair.

I told her about....when I painted
With colours and brushes....a colourful world of mine
When canvas and sheets were drenched with bright colours
Bright colours like red, yellow, green, orange and so on.

But now...I can't even recognize them
They are lost in some dusty drawers
Somewhere I can't even remember
Now I live in a world of black and white
White pages drenched with black ink...

Did I lose my bright colours?
Or am I just homing in this black and white world of mine?

it's the words i don't say
it's the words that i don't mean
that makes loving me so tiresome

it's the love i once lost
it's the memories i still have
that makes loving someone so hard

it's the apologies i never said
it's the fights that never ended
that makes moving on surreal

it's the poems i never wrote
it's the stanzas that were never finished
that makes my poems remind people of love

a thousand apologies more will not
make spoken words unheard