No, this time it didn't hurt me much,
maybe I am used to it, now.

Maybe I have had enough of us.
Maybe the fact that you're not there, doesn't bother me anymore.
Maybe I became more independent this time.
Maybe this time I knew where each of the pieces goes.
Maybe I don't expect from you anymore.
Maybe I grew up a little bit.
Maybe this time, there's no jack to my Jill.
Maybe this time, Jill knows how to fetch some water, all by herself.
Maybe this time, I want more from life.
Maybe this time, you just stick to the white-ruled pages of my diary.
Maybe this time, the whispers around streets aren't about you and me.
Maybe you don't lie close to me anymore.
Maybe, those peals of laughter are now replaced by the smell of coffee and battered laptop screens.
Maybe, my hands don't search for you in darkness, anymore.
Maybe, my eyes don't search for you in our favorite hangout places, anymore.
Maybe, my lips don't mumble your name while sleeping, anymore.
Maybe this time, I finally get that you don't care about me, you never really did.

Three things that should always be strong.
Coffee.
Poetry, and You.

There's this guy I call my best friend,
He is sweet and sound.
Yes, we complete each other's sentences.
Calling him just a 'friend' would be a disgrace.
He is more of a diary for me.
Deliberately, he listens to my pointless thoughts
with his stillness, softly pardoning me,
connecting the dots,
he smoothly stirs my soul with indulgence.
letting our smiles exchange their scents.
Yes, I know he does his job too perfectly.
You would say he is just a fantasy,
right?
But trust me, he holds true.

There's this guy I call my best friend,
My constant companion,
he helps me untangle my obstructions,
just the way you untwine your hair,
and let it spare.
He is like coffee,
in the mornings that aren't glee.
His eyes proclaiming that it's a good day alee,
as that smile reaches his ears,
letting my heart sing a happy song,
all day long.

There's this guy I call my best friend,
Some of you may think, this is again someone friend zoned.
But no, this is someone I have owned.
He is more of a family to me,
who never lets down to me.
He touches like a happy pill,
he is the Jack to my Jill.
He is more than just a poem to me.
I hope, together we blaze,
forever and always.

Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was all dreamy, and fabled.
She was brave enough to love you.
She was brave enough to be crumpled to shreds yet fake a smile flawlessly.
She grew on you.

Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was graceful and too kind to be true.
She was the daisy of your garden, where flowers weren't just a few.
She loved sunshine as much as the misty moon.
She was ravishingly rhythmic. Forming melodies out of those midnight stars,
adding beats and verses to your mundane mornings.
Your Juliet, your Daisy, your sanguine Sestina
all of them. Yet, nothing better than a reverie.

Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was all chirpy and consoling.
Solace was what made her.
Her love was fire, worth burning for.
At times, her eyes form glaciers,
arctic and numb.
At times, she feels worn out and ready to drop.
But, Juliet's audacious to hold on tight yet, taken down by you. Remember, she grew on you.

Juliet, your Juliet.
I grew out of her.
She was delicate but humorous.
Compassion knit her soul together.
You tell her, she is all you ever wanted and is grateful for.
But, the woman lying next to you hears the same.  

She was a writer and left you one.
Juliet, your Juliet.
Not anymore.

Your guitar speaks a lot about you.
Through the songs you sing,
and the tunes you play.

3:30 a.m.
when all of them were studying,
for their board exams.
The future bestselling author
was busy stitching her new story.

Maybe there was a time,
when roses had no thorns.
Just like we did before.
Now, we guard ourselves,
just like the roses do.