The clock ticks, steady - like a heartbeat that
he's not using.
Replaced by a silence that
steals his consciousness, for a moment,
then forever.
The weight doesn't lift, heavy - like a force that
keeps us all down.
Trapped in a sea of smiles and
memories that will always remain
in the past -
no future to mark new moments we
couldn't remember anyway:
We're not drowning in memories,
we're sinking in our sorrows,
oppressed by the knowing that he's not here
anymore.
If only we could turn the clock back:
revive a nerve and create
a few more heartbeats to share -
because we're forgetting
how to breathe, too.
Our fears replaced by tears and
thoughts subsiding our feelings because
we can't feel anything but the pain of his absence
that quickens that the mention
of his name.

Maybe we grow up when we realise
Beauty is not in the shimmering of lips or in the curve of the hips.

Maybe its when we realise
Beauty is a term used by the souls and the souls alone.

Its a term which transcends all our imaginations and yet, is so much in sync with it.

Maybe its when we realise
There's a lot more to Love than just
'loving'.
There's a lot more to give than just
'giving'.
There's a lot more to hope than just
'hoping'.
And this 'lot more' is called
'believing'.
Believing in a life,
Which is so much more larger than just 'another life'.