We outgrow love out of poems and roses, stars and scars.
A love that can't just be contained in a heart.
Our love that can also be seen as a moon, inked as verses and painted as flowers.

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You are the kind of aesthetic
that blends perfectly with my shades.

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Midnight lurks scary
illusions, sleep surrenders
to deadly nightmares.

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Those half wilted petals remembered your touch
and I saw the pages turning blue out of poetry.

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Waiting at this end, I'm growing older.
Worlds are changing but not me.
Yearning for your presence,
years are just passing by.

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How can I not celebrate you when you always celebrated my existence every year in your own way!

~captioned

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Indeed the walls echo the conversations, we had but
the corners home the pieces, we lost.— % &While I'm drowning in the night,
the corners of my heart embraces
your memories and cry.— % &Origami was always your favourite,
you kept folding the papers
and I kept hiding your name in the corners.— % &And that old vase homing the wilted flowers
somehow grew a home in a rusty corner...— % &

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Friend or an ally or just a passerby,
you followed me through every aisle and alley
and I never questioned you why.
Darkest of night or brightest of day,
when everyone left, you show up and stay.
No conversations but a strange feeling of assurity.
A warm comfort feeling the rooms, that were empty.
A sign of relief to have someone to rely.
I know you without a name and identity,
but as a mere silhouette that's dark and gray.
A shadow that's more reliable than being shady and scary.

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August arrived like a bright sunlight
after a rainy night,
wet but warm.

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Confessions remained unheard.
Love in the letters,
broke into poems.

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