Feelings masked
Under a boulder of
Suppression
Painted with smiles
To hide the frustration that was
Bubbling, bubbling
Inside, never escaping
Because it shouldn’t, right?
Fatality:
The consequence of a mistaken exposure of the
Achilles’ heel,
carefully veiled by
socks or such something,
Shrouded by indifference and a pretence of amnesia.

And yet, yet sometimes, sometimes
At the sight of the clear blue sky
Where two dreams had once soared together;
At the sound of the synced rhythm
Of the bell-like laughter
that still echoed
In the present silence of an absence;
At the memory of numbers,
The date of union,
The date of parting;
At the smell of small things -
Coffees and teas and wet earth and flowers
The preferences of which had been tiffs
Time and again, time and again
In a distant past;
At the taste of tears of another loved one,
That seasoned the bitter sorrow of loss
With tangy flavours
That left not ever the tongue.
Just sometimes, sometimes,
Even at the gentle
Trickling
               of
                 rain
That had once inspired a
Melodious dance of a now-truant soulfulness

Somewhere, something, sometimes
Cracks.

A hint of sheer pressed down sorrow
Visible in the gradually extinguishing eye
Heard in the reluctantly cracking voice
As one breaks
Shard by jagged shard
Falling out of a patched up soul
Like petals of a flower, counting:
Missing him, missing him not…
Missing him.
And a now porous wall
Leaves a gaping peephole to expose
A separate world full of hidden memories,
The reminder of which still always
leads to such an
Unprecedented
Moment of weakness.