NINE REALIZATIONS

 The first time he left me 

I cried for a week

searching for all the 

unfinished cups of coffee 

we should have shared.

But deep down,  I knew

he would come back,

not because I was good 

but he was good 

And that's why 

after two summers

I opened my door 

without a moment's hesitation

when he knocked it.

I read Neruda to him and

listened to his silence.

When I couldn't find him

one day after our 

first kiss, I went in search

to find the blanket I gifted 

him abandoned in the street.

it was nothing worth keeping,

a red, tattered blanket 

made of my heart.

I don't remember 

the third time he disappeared,

but I do remember

that I felt like 

a stray dog, 

unlovable at its very nature.

The fourth time it was 

no different, 

a squeeze in my hand 

and he was gone.

By the fifth time 

I was prepared,

and nothing was a surprise.

He had become an 

aching habit,

an occasional interruption 

in sorrowful day.

The next time 

I had his name 

he wrote on my collarbone

and I traced it whenever 

I missed him,

 like a nun chanting 

the  fifth joyful mystery 

of rosary, 

hopeful and hopeless.

Again he vanished,

my pauper prince,

and it was then I

found out that 

he looked like a painting.

Then again I found

him smiling at a butterfly

and my heart cried,

I don't know why. 

Two days back 

I lost him again,

I don't know where 

but I know he had 

given me a smile to remember.

Bless his heart,

what a beautiful smile,

a red peony in the morning...

Today I decided that 

when he come back 

I will make 

him promise 

not to leave me again.

But 

how can I tie him 

to myself when

all he want is to go away? 

All this time

 I thought

it was love, 

but was it?

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