Few songs, perfumes, places, long drives are synonyms to our happy days. All of them mean the same. The happy WE.

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Yeah I love to hear when you talk about her. I love to watch your face when you describe her memories. Because that’s when your eyes lit up and you smile more.
For I know I’ll never be her.
I find my peace in that smile.

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Maybe sometimes you just have to make peace with the thought that they’ll never love you back the same way.

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Do you still pick up perfumes and then drop them because you know I am allergic?
Do you still stare the moon and remember those nights?
Do you keep checking your phone in the hope of receiving a never happening text?
Do you really do all that or is it just me contemplating in the phrase of ‘do you’ ?

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It is true that I have moved on!
But memories aren't gone.
Facing everyday with a smile,
But somewhere heart has safeguarded your file.

Anymore I don't cry,
Wet pillows are now dry.
Walls no more hear my screams,
But deep down you exist in my dreams.

Past dates, when glasses filled with wine,
You brushing your lips against mine.
No! I am not hoping for you to come back,
But wish for your apology that still lack.

Can't figure out. What led to that huge fight?
Our mutual Understanding? Or the air of I am always right?
Maybe right was you, right was me.
But wrong were WE !

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Happiness and contentment lies in accepting yourself in your own skin colour,celebrating your flaws.
Feeling grateful about the shape of your nose and this perfectly functioning body.

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I was waiting at the red traffic light
And saw a familiar guy, stopping on the right.
My sight got him caught
Flashback began, "how we fought".

It was a beautiful start.
Riding life on friendship cart.
Roaming everywhere, classes got bunk
Joking at each other always in the chunk.

Now, I look at him again.
Realising, expectations caused so much pain.
A minute later, the signal goes green.
His engine started, leaving me unseen.

I stop there and contemplate.
Remembering our photo slate.
Grey pictures now appear black and white.
Intimidating, there's nothing left to hold tight.

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A hollow generation....
So hollow that we need cigars to feel cool
And
Weeds to feel happy.

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Somewhere our past has ruined us so bad that we lost the belief in not only the person but the whole process!

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I'm his spell,
He's my pronounce!

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