The last thing
he says he misses
showing me truth
and watching me change
well, maybe not change
He didn't see me change enough  
So when I feel I miss him
and His chocolate cake of kisses
Remind me . . .
what he misses is changing me
But what he MISSED was Me

Tears descended in a silent abyss of loss,
you were a reflection on my thoughts.  
I still hear your voice when I'm outside,
carrying our last conversations and the
echoes of your laugh.

Missing you has no meaning, you were a
friend through everything, If tears were shed,
your shoulder would gladly soak them up.
Your words of sympathy settling my mind at rest.

You are a silhouette that will forever be in my heart,
its only been moments since you left.
But to me a lifetime of your voice will i miss,
I'll look above, the breeze carrying the breath
of your reassuring voice.

you are the art

Missed a few steps while climbing up,
only a few,
however still felt in the same way like it use to feel prior.
Still felt a stumble is better than a fall

Paused for a while
Thought for sometime
Then continued towards destination with only one change in mind
One step at a time till the destination is reached upon.

Bottom line remains the same,
never repeat the same old mistake
Never do anything in haste or in rush of blood
Slow and steady wins the race.

Few things have changed while in present
Few still seem to be the same
Present is what will decide how to set priority according to available time.

Never think of an uncertain future while in present in terms of short term gains
Often in life it's learnt from one's own experience that success has got no short cuts and hence only one step at a time.

I never told you this story:

The story is, when we first me, first falling in love, I had a choice. I was at a party, with my friends, and you texted me. You wanted to get drunk, bring a friend and show off some new guy you met.

And I was talking with a beautiful French girl.

She was impeccable, with long dark hair and she scared many of the guys away with the intensity in her stare. Her accent made every word a masterpiece, and her style strict Parisian. She did it all like we could do it, but she did it differently. And she could dance.

I asked my friend what I should do.

He took a drink and told me “If she comes man, she’ll only want to dance with you.” He said this as he glanced at the beautiful French girl smiling at me, and I smiled back at her. And that sealed the deal in the kitchenette.

So I walked backed to her, and she held out her hand. She pulled me in close, and I could smell her hair. She smiled as she taught me, laughed as I failed, and it took a while to get the hang of it, but I finally prevailed.

And I danced with the French girl.

I ignored your texts, blocked your calls. And it was her that I was texting on my walk home, forgotten about you at a bus stop far from home. It was the feel her of her body against mine I missed, not yours.

And even though I later chose you, I later fell for you, and I later lost you, that night, I chose her. I chose the dream over reality; someone knew over a scene well seen; I chose love, I chose me.

And do I regret that decision?

Well, out of all the decisions I made which lead me to loving you, I have absolutely no regrets in dancing with the beautiful French girl.

Maybe it was a precursor, a sign I should have taken. But to me, it’s just a memory, and a memory I’ll never forget, a memory I'll always have about dancing with the French girl in the downstairs kitchenette.