Heard you laugh in my dreams;
like happy little kids were we,
all those things that scare you;
won’t hurt like a faded memory.
There’s this moon, full and bright,
you in slumber, curled in bed;
thoughts like old pictures of you,
hidden under sheets of tears shed.
Endless vigil, tear-stained pillow;
beautiful cuts and a deep fall,
melancholic it is, isn’t it?
to watch them go who had it all.
Hiding with sinking heart in a corner;
and life doesn’t treat you fair,
the truth is you want to run away;
all consumed up in despair.
Wounds are fresh and they ache;
victim of something unfortunate,
this nobody knows but me;
counting on the happiness so late.
Endless vigil, caressed skin;
all wrapped up in emptiness,
laughing throwing my head back;
so nobody could guess.
© Shreya ♥
“Every time, I felt like missing you —I told myself to stop and forced to sleep. I believe sleep could fix our souls. I don't know I slept or dreamt, I just watched something is missing behind and I did nothing about it. I feel like you're a mistake, I feel I'll regret this but I also know, there's a comfort of a kind in missing you. Comfort of being sad, maybe. I find a dark hollow spot sinking in my chest delivering me life and that's how I realize I am alive. I want to tell you all this on a hill top at 2:00 in morning under starlit night and lonely place followed by the North wind. I want to feel the shiver and realize, it's real. I want to smoke and make rings of it. I’ve caught you staring at me and I want to stare at you, find out what pain looks like and run my finger on the edges of loneliness. Losing my sleep writing about you is like a ritual for me, I feel I will be pure if I perform this ritual like vigil. The more painful it is, the more pure it will be. I have a strange belief that you can’t understand such a twisted logic, I am learning to be content with it. So I will be awake, writing and humming it like a nightingale –sitting in darkness under an unfruitful tree all alone and singing to cherish loneliness, sending you smoke signals.”