Remember the damselflies we used to chase around the playground in school?

Remember their colours? I definitely remember a purple one too. And a yellow one. And a blue one.

They were so, so beautiful and I loved that how it was our secret little game.

Just you and me, away from this world, in our green grass, school bags on the ground somewhere, our knee length socks filled with the annoying grass seeds, that we loved to remove one by one too!

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A stab, but psychologically gratifying. Weird kind of a turn on.
No wonder I prefer unrequited love.
It was a confirmation about my loveability, rather, lack of it.
I am wondering about bad tastes. Mine as well as yours.
Yes, yes, I know it's about you.
You think we weren't meant to be.
You fell out of it. You were sorry. Whatever.
Don't take away my thunder now.
Your departure is also about me.

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Recommended for Potterheads only (Muggles are welcome, but spoilers ahead).

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You walk into your room, closing the door behind.
You thank yourself for taking the time in the morning to make your bed,
And now you just fall into it
Letting go of all the weight on yourself
The cool clean sheets soothe your desperation
And you sigh in relief
It doesn't feel so wrong right now
But doesn't feel so right either
You run your palms over the fabric
Missing the one who could be there
You don't think you want anyone either
But you could do with someone to tell you, it's okay
But no one's there
And your palms trace the emptiness telling you it's okay
You be strong for yourself because you don't have a choice
No one can fix this, only you can
But your body is tired,
You feel it from the heaviness you are easing out
You are tired of being strong
You wish it were easy, simple, it isn't.
You wish to be saved, you can't be.
Wishful thinking
You know you are your own saviour
You are strong, you will fight
You will not give up
The damp pillow that took your tears
Hold you as you hold yourself to sleep.

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People have most likely thought of you in their life,
maybe in a long bus journey fit for contemplation
or when it rains unusually on a winter Sunday afternoon
and you feel like going out for a chocolate ice cream
or in the car to the hospital
or no where particular,
looking out the window,
wondering what it would be like to be driving,
one hand off the wheel to hold yours.
They might have even cried over you,
head buried in their pillow,
or smiled to themselves silently
when something as random as a video game
reminded them of you.
Yes, we rarely consider
that while life seems to suck at times,
you have been loved too.

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A desperate measure.
After everything fails, you simply let it go.
Let it flow. I seriously have no idea what to write, but I think I need to do something now, hence this. I was skipping the prompts, like I usually do nowadays, just wanting my daily dose of midnight poetry that has come way past midnight now. I lost interest midway, to be honest, because I was too haphazard in my thoughts. Still am. I am not going anywhere with this as you can tell. You won't find any hidden message or thought provoking idea here. But maybe you could relate- when it does not make any sense and you try to join the dots to come up with a masterpiece only to realise that perhaps being nonsensical and random and all over the place was what it was all about.

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Fields of green

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Hold my hand and sway with me.

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A Reply to YQ Baba's Secret Letter:

"What Do You Seek Through Writing?"

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The Spring Dance

I was 9. You were too.
The song was a blockbuster.
Our movements, disaster.
I stepped on your foot.
You replied with your boot.
The teacher separated us
Through our blows
We would kill each other
If we could.
Change partners, she bellowed
I blew my hairs aside
What? With whom?
My new partner smiled
I stuck out my tongue at him
And then looked at you.
You nodded and
Went up to the teacher
We won't fight
We promise.
We danced to the blockbuster
On the stage, last row.
Two pairs of two left feet,
Giggling, fighting,
As we tried to stomp
On each other's toes.

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