There is a story to be told,
either we should attempt,
together or keep it a secret.
Pain is the glue that joins us,
the story has different narratives
that won't converge, in all places
hence it is less than joyous.

Joys are but a rainbow till evening,
the rains of happiness are sparse,
                           we still are waiting
the drought destroys everything green,
love is a dying stream in between-
ego trips and never ending pain.

Let us tell the story in one voice,
let go the pain of lost choices,
you should be lying on my chest,
sobbing and I must be  consoling softly,
"Honey, don't cry, it's not your fault or mine"
still you are inconsolable in your grief.
              Then you see my eyes are
              two pools flooding in pain.