Jan 2020
Lying by the windowsill, it feels lonely, true?
The sky took a somber turn but you've been here since it was blue, you came in exactly at 3 'o' 2 but here we are, my love.
Resisting the cold wood you get up and stare, your eyes now dare to look around and care, two books lie in a pair over your table antique and rare. You were supposed to welcome morning with eyes bare, and here we are, my love.
Riffle through the pages attempting to learn,
Yet in some sorrowful heat you burn, believe it or not you're thinking of someone. The one who calls you hon, it flutters through your memory like some sort of gun, yet two whole chapters of the first book remain undone, and here we are, my love.
Pick up your phone the chatbox yells some name, you look through an image and still feel the same. Love flutters in mind but you send something lame, it's not you but the fear of getting judged is to be blamed. A "Hey" with a "Bae" is what you wish to claim, which is rightful and no shame, and here we are, my love.
Electricity's out and so is the lamp, your emotions and wire connections both seem to be jammed, though suddenly somewhere around 12 AM, you utter an unusual but seemingly-happy "****!", a reply to a text saying, "Here I am!" 9% battery thereafter 9 hours of Instagram, and yet here we are, my love.❤️
- Utkarsh Upadhyay
The sky took a somber turn but you've been here since it was blue, you came in exactly at 3 'o' 2 but here we are, my love.
Resisting the cold wood you get up and stare, your eyes now dare to look around and care, two books lie in a pair over your table antique and rare. You were supposed to welcome morning with eyes bare, and here we are, my love.
Riffle through the pages attempting to learn,
Yet in some sorrowful heat you burn, believe it or not you're thinking of someone. The one who calls you hon, it flutters through your memory like some sort of gun, yet two whole chapters of the first book remain undone, and here we are, my love.
Pick up your phone the chatbox yells some name, you look through an image and still feel the same. Love flutters in mind but you send something lame, it's not you but the fear of getting judged is to be blamed. A "Hey" with a "Bae" is what you wish to claim, which is rightful and no shame, and here we are, my love.
Electricity's out and so is the lamp, your emotions and wire connections both seem to be jammed, though suddenly somewhere around 12 AM, you utter an unusual but seemingly-happy "****!", a reply to a text saying, "Here I am!" 9% battery thereafter 9 hours of Instagram, and yet here we are, my love.❤️
- Utkarsh Upadhyay
