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Oct 2017
Today, I came back home,
And you weren’t there,
I hope for you to reach sooner here,
Because if you were here then the books would be in a neat pile,
You always arrange everything neatly,
If you were here, I would’ve told you about auto driver’s story,
You always listen to those stories intently,
If you were here the towel wouldn’t be on the bed,
It would be hung out to dry,
If you were the sheets would be tucked under the mattress,
And on the hook, behind the door, there would be my nightdress,
If you were here, there would be a filled water-bottle in the fridge,
There would be groceries too, bought and kept in the fridge,
You would know the routes to every shop and which one to go if that was closed,
While I struggle to remember the various ways that you uncovered to get back home,
Lunch prepared and set on the table with Netflix on,
You asking me where did I reach on the phone,
You opening the gate,
Ordering me to change before we ate,
Everything set up like a date, every day.
Today I came back to a structure of brick and cement,
Loaded with facilities but still not better than that trek tent,
And as I open the fridge and find no water there,
No Netflix on, or updating location status on the phone,
It’s only then you realize that home is not a product of civil engineering or architecture,
It’s us, being together, cuddling and whispering like we did in that valley when you took that picture.
How you miss someone when they leave.
Samridhi Neelam Nain
Written by
Samridhi Neelam Nain  19/F/New Delhi, India
(19/F/New Delhi, India)   
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