Love is Going, Love is Leaving

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Look, you are already look at elsewhere

The distance between you and I

 Getting farther and wider

We are no better than strangers


“You’ve been meeting someone else often lately.

You don’t even call me first anymore”

Love had withered.

There was no reason for ‘love’ to stay anymore, appearently
Love was coming and love was leaving
I was least expected, but it came with full force
‘Love’ didn’t look want to look back, ‘But, love better left or looked elsewhere.”


Love

Only my heart knew the profanity I had been spilling out ever since that day, of your stupidity, of what you might have lost and would never get back again, “You frustrated me, and I should have pulled back way earlier. You are so stupid.”


Love, you didn’t look your age, so what if I knew you were nearly 30? Or you had been so desperate.
Because I never really cared about it.

Love

Maybe you were far too young, or simply not the right person.
Or you might be the right person
At the wrong time.
Or didn’t mean to cross section


Love, now, looks elsewhere. Wander elsewhere. Weighing option elsewhere.
“And it is not me. Love might have lied.’
But love was a great pretender then.
“Fact has it, you leave.”


Love

“I thought you wanted me to give up.”


Remembering your words, they are all silly lies

Love is going. Love is leaving

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Song of Solitude (4)

If it’s real what I’m feeling
There’s no make believing

—-

As if time being his unusual garrulous self, to speculate, to make her played with her prejudices, so she conjectured he could be off the realm of his whimsical non sense, his played things sensical. He could be in both worlds if it needed be, but he probably went offbeat. It went the reverse to her, now that she realized had been going absurd, she air confidence it supposedly juxtaposed at last.

The thought of many typicals excited her the least, if it meant it would be an abrasive truth, she wasn’t capable of handling the facts revealed itself forthright, in a manner demeaning her had been so compliant devotion towards her heart abound. It was contemptuous for gaining, losing was last entranced her mind. But what could she have done if the destiny displeased of the end? She air frighten but trust her modest yet mean-spirited inner voices.

You could be all the bets, but you stand way aloof, it is like I’m watching myself from afar. It is so polar we are, but so similar.” She reminisced him once played his ace, now it was world-weary, even not per se lost his grace but too cautioned of losing to pretense, to what seemingly resemble in a glimpse. “I don’t believe in forever, everything is evolving, but in you, at least it adds colour. It may stay solid, or by the time sordid.”

She lost counting, not because of bewildered but impassioned as her nuanced mind nitpicked his holy inclination. It left her mentally thunderstruck. How long could a person be so insistently distant himself from spelling the language of profanity? Was his mind too afraid of making a slip? She believed, it was just happen to be bound, but it seemed to her, his obsequious won over, if he ever bent himself, she wouldn’t allow even when she herself wondered.

Song of Solitude (2)


If the world isn’t turning
Your heart won’t return
Anyone, anything, anyhow

She wandered aimlessly and wondered the beauty of seemingly pleading for attention night, in her cubicle, statued. The last time she felt so unsteady was when he left her without goodbye. He didn’t return the hello she once gave to him. But it was a nuance, now she buried it in her brain ‘ancient’ part. It was almost surreal to her. It was the evident epitome of guilty pleasure. She pondered, pondered hard, it should be her mind controlling her heart. She laughed at herself, hard enough to make her fall off from the chair, if so made believe. He played out a great protector. The sky was empty from the window peek. The Romeo probably forgot he had to greet her or got lost in his way of meeting her. And there she waited, waited endlessly, hopelessly and helplessly. The sky wasn’t any better consolation, served her no consolidation. If anything, mourn intensified. She let loose of what supposedly detached. But she couldn’t seem to do it with the soul she had been standing staring the gloomy skies so hazily, so keenly for. She waited and waited still, “Romeo must be so preoccupied.”