The virtue of sorrow is that you expect it at times to shake you up,
An inconspicuous shade from the fragrance wheel,
Someone asked me,
Why did I love you?
Cribbing became our pet peeve,
A touché up your sleeve,
An ensemble of resemblances curled up,
Some relatable,
Are the floral patterns on your bedsheet the same?
I wonder if you slip your fingers into your curls,
Eons later, sunsets after dolor,
Unexpected notifications brought color,
A million-photo album of memories imbued with pain,
Screeching with laughter, sprinkled with zero gain,
Treading the rope of madness, the neck feeling the grip of the chain,
Januarys blossom from dead-end Decembers,
Distance once measured in minutes,
Now timed at years,
It became an exercise,
Complimentary, cursory ;