It's easy to see why you fell in love with him,
It's easy to see why you hoped you found forever
But you didn't.
And that disappointment felt like a death
and you have been trapped between anger and denial
for four years.
You think you must bury him in order to bury your grief.
And convincing others of this too
has become a game
where you sleep and play
inside your litter box.
Now the feces of hatred and revenge
stick to your feet wherever you go.
You must turn him into a monster
by telling anyone who will listen
that he is haunting you—and you really want this to be true
because that would mean he was still interested in your life.
But when you are alone and still…you remember...
coffee and stories, genuine kindness
and you know, his only crime was breaking your heart.

I understand your heartbreak;
you saw your knight in shining armor,
The answer to your loneliness.
Your pathway out of poverty.
His demeanor is gentle,
his quiet, listening face
hears your words with truth and interest;
every sentence is allowed to live its full life
until you are validated and understood.
He is your biggest fan, a loving caregiver.
Children and animals are drawn to him
like a shepherd or a father or a friend.
We both know he gave 8 years to a child,
a paraplegic who wasn’t even his own.
Bathed him, carried him, wiped drool from his chin
and in between all the doctors, made him laugh.
He offers himself to everyone this way, so

I understand why losing him hurt you so wholly
I know this, because I love him too.
But I think you and I define love very differently;
I wouldn’t want someone whom I had to threaten to make him stay.
I wouldn’t derive my identity from an unspoken contract
or imaginary promises that I insisted he owed me.
I wouldn’t try to destroy another human being
for the sole purpose of hiding my own embarrassment.
You see, love would remember his beautiful soul
and love would sincerely want him to be happy

Even if that meant he found happiness without you.

My time is valuable
                          
                         & my energy is rare

& thoughts require both,
  
    // // // // // // // // // // // //

        So I don’t really think about you.

it's such a shame



you were in front of me



and I couldn't recognise you.

once again the words run out
i sit and wait for their return

our kisses are pink
your fingertips blue
my neck purple
pop goes the balloon

my hands in your hair
you taste of cherry
and pop goes my heart
just like confetti

CREATIONS
An artist, for appreciation of his work, almost always yearns.

Rich he feels, when more than money, compliments for his work, he earns.

His creation, his dearest babies are; all very precious to him.

Tends to them, he lovingly, be they pretty, brightly coloured or dim.

His work of art, be they paintings, songs, music, all very precious are.

To him, irrespective of what people think, their rating always is, five star.

All he seeks is appreciation from his patrons, readers or listeners; his fans.

Creativity is at it's best, when either he is happy or sad, they say.

For him, he has a limited life span but his creation is here to eternally stay.

Armin Dutia Motashaw