Sometimes, when love grows,
it does not run wild, like haphazard branches
of a tree you wanted to stand beside.

It does not unravel like a birthday present,
hidden deep under layers of suspense,
and adventure.

It does not swirl around the world like a rainbow,
celebrating first touches, accidental eye contacts,
and naked phone calls.

Sometimes, when love grows,
it grows like the lines of a poem which once marked
tombstones around your heart.

It sticks like a fresh bruise under your feet,
and makes you want to run,
behind butterflies and stars.

It grows like a seed in your throat,
every-time you gulp, it scalps a little skin,
and heart.

Sometimes, when love grows,
it outgrows you.

– Mayank Arora

II. Sometimes, love dies.

Sometimes, love dies like the falling autumn leaves
That swirl in a storm
And before you know it, the summer is over.

Sometimes, love dies like the ever widening spaces in midnight phone conversations,
Just like the crackle over the line swallows your soul,
Love swallows you whole.

It’s musty rankness creeps up on you in the middle of your third dance,
When your lipstick begins to fade and the cocktail has gone stale.
Love fails.

Sometimes love reeks of broken dreams
And heaving, bruised promises.
It stinks of the clamor for survival against all odds. Though it boasts of battle sores,
Sometimes, love loses the war.

Sometimes love dies,
Fading away faster than the colours of the polaroid
That made love grow in the first place.
Sometimes, love renders lovers faceless.

Sometimes, when love dies,
It ends the lies,
Just so you can live a little.