I slept
listening to the sound
of your rhythmic breaths,

and your snores,
my customized lullaby.

Why do you love me, you asked,
and I pondered over your words,
silently memorizing your face,
my mind buzzed, as every possible
reason skipped around to present
a bouquet of thoughts.

Why do you love me, you asked,
and I sat down to write memoirs
but no words came,
and my pen stopped mid-air,
while letters danced...

Why do you love me, you asked,
and I wished, secretly, that
you'd asked how much I love you,
for I would have answered:
"You are my first waking thought...
that's how much I love you."

'Cause for reasons on why do I love you,
my pen seems pathetically dry. ..

I have burned the bridges
and walked on tight ropes
of meaningless hopes,

which bloom
in graveyard of thoughts;

where wanderers roam,
silent, with hollow laughs,
while nursing ...dormant hearts.