I don’t think you realize that I typed that out,
In a frenzy, in a hurry,
With a spool of heat rushing to my head, very much alike
In nature, to the heat which flooded my cheeks when your fingers grazed mine
But so much different from how it made me feel. And
My hand acting of its own accord, picked up the phone,
Those same hands which had touched your hair a mere two days ago,
Running my fingers through them and shading your eyes from the sun,
Those same hands, how had they come to this?
I sent you two lines, hurried and misspelled, and poured down
Years’ worth of feelings and agony and love and pain into those lines,
Thinking that it would culminate our suffering, and bring us to a new start.
Oh! How foolish could I have been? Had I not known, that it would be the doom of us?
Had I not forseen, that it would only lead to clipped goodbyes and unsaid half-truths?
And when finally you called back, saying how this end was meant to be be, I noticed the
Calmness in your voice, and yet the fire surging beneath.
You repressed the anger, and hid your pain well, and the wall of indifference you put up,
Oh how I wish I had seen through it. I could have stopped a lot of nights
Spent in hunger, and yearning and tears. I could have stopped those
Fleeting glances, which said so much yet left a lot unsaid.
I could’ve saved us from so much heartbreak, and forgive me, the naive me,
For the mistake that I made.